


Everyone's Got a Sweet Tooth

by Glinka



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Candy shop!au, Drama, First Date, Fluff, M/M, Sexual Content, modern!AU, so disgustingly sweet your teeth will rot, stupid amounts of flirting, there's actually a plot what happened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-07-14 15:59:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7178666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glinka/pseuds/Glinka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working in a candy shop can sometimes mean meeting some very interesting people. </p><p>"Willpower, Merlin, willpower," Merlin chants to himself under his breath, taking a deep breath in and out, in and out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Merlin spends plenty of time behind the chocolate counter at Treat Yourself, a candy shop situated along a busy street in London with too many upscale restaurants, and not enough people with active sweet tooths.  
  
Merlin doesn't understand it. The richer you are, the more candy you can buy, right? Or maybe once you start making so much money your sweet tooth becomes latent? It boggles his mind. Either way, the shop just isn't pulling in as many customers as it should be, especially if Merlin wants to continue paying the rent should something happen to the shop owner - who happens to be his great uncle.  
  
The vanilla buttercreams whisper seductively to him from behind the clear class windows of the chocolate case. Merlin’s seat behind the counter gifts him with a prime view of the various assorted chocolates, truffles, and chocolate pretzels they have available for sale. And there are plenty more just sitting in their boxes in the cabinet behind him, begging to be eaten. No. He shouldn’t.  
  
"Willpower, Merlin, willpower," he mumbles to himself, pulling his eyes away from the chocolate cases for the fifth time that morning. He always gives in. Not today.  
  
He swears, every day in this shop is a tremendous test in self-control.

It’s bad enough that his great uncle Gaius already suspects his grand-nephew of eating all the inventory, but Merlin wouldn’t much want a customer to waltz in at any moment to catch him wolfing down some of his all-time favorite - dark chocolate almond bark. That would be bad for business. And Merlin’s dignity.

“Just two more hours,” he sighs to himself, trying to be self-encouraging as he snatches up his phone from the gift-wrapping station. He checks the time and looks for something that will distract him from the omnipresent smell of cacao and gummy candies.

Five minutes later, he groans and tosses down his mobile. “Just a couple pieces,” he decides, already disappointed in himself for breaking so soon, but not disappointed enough to stop himself from grabbing a cellophane bag and throwing on a plastic glove, ready to toss in a couple pieces of chocolatey goodness.

This job is probably dangerous for him, he always tells himself. Merlin is addicted and he knows it. He’ll probably eat so much chocolate almond bark that when the doctors open him up after he dies, they’ll pronounce the C.O.D. “death by chocolate.”

*****

Arthur Pendragon is the son of the owner of a vast chocolate empire that specializes in gourmet confections. Their specialty? Chocolate products. Camelot Confectionary is especially famous for its variety of artisan chocolate truffles, which the company ships all throughout the UK, to just about every candy store - chain or privately-owned, you name it. Everyone with a sweet tooth knows of Camelot Confectionary’s reputation.

In other words, their candy tastes like heaven and is expensive as hell. Which, Arthur thinks, should really be their company slogan.

Uther Pendragon constantly tells Arthur that Camelot will soon become popular enough to begin marketing worldwide. Until then, he sends his son to scope out the likeliest competitors, and relay any useful information back to the Pendragon company. Arthur does what he’s told without complaint.

Until he stumbles into a quaint little shop situated along a busy road with plenty of upscale restaurants, and just the right sort of unknown atmosphere that makes Arthur curious to know more.  
  
Arthur likes to pop into small name candy shops every once in a while, sometimes for the benefit of his father’s company, perhaps discover something that the Confectionary is sorely missing.

Sometimes, though, he goes to shops like that for his own personal enjoyment. Try though he might to control himself, Arthur Pendragon has always had a wicked sweet tooth. And he loves to try new things.  
  
Then one day, Arthur walks into a small shop called Treat Yourself. That’s when he realizes that, when it comes to trying new things, why stop at candy?

*****

The bell above the door jingles and Merlin’s head whips around to greet the new customer.

He takes one look at the man walking through the door - and his breath leaves him.  
  
Oh, god.  
  
He contemplates making a disappearance into the back room to hide amongst the boxes of almond butter crunch and bins of non-pareils, just to clear his head before dealing with this unexpected guest, when Merlin remembers that he’s the only one managing the shop. He can’t exactly go disappearing anywhere, unless he wants uncle Gaius to go on a rampage about leaving the inventory unsupervised.

Merlin takes an extra deep breath to calm his nerves; really, how bad can one guy be?

The bloke sidling into the store has a chiseled jaw, excellent shoulders which are perfectly noticeable under a plain, blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up (God, how’s that even _legal_?). His jeans are plain but neat, casual but not overtly so. Studying the man more carefully, Merlin starts to suspect. After five years of working in this business, sometimes it can be easier to spot the ones who aren’t really here to buy – they’re here to snoop. Normally the rich, arrogant types who’ve probably never been told “no” in their entire life.

Golden Hair might turn out to be a prat with an agenda, but there’s no denying that the bloke is fit.

"Willpower, Merlin, willpower," Merlin chants to himself under his breath, taking a deep breath in and out, in and out.

Merlin doesn’t want to suspect those things of blue button-down with the pretty eyes, but his gut is telling him that it’s about time to brush up on the store’s health policies and make sure he remembers which products contain allergens, before he’s bombarded with questions.  

Then he slaps on his most winning smile and turns to greet the man with a gracious, “Afternoon! Welcome to Treat Yourself. Let me know if…” He realizes that the man, who he notices has blue eyes (they’re very _nice_ blue eyes) is giving him an odd look. Does Merlin have something in his teeth?

He clears his throat and tries again. “Let me know if you need help with anything,” Merlin manages to force out, before his tongue can commit an act of mutiny and stops working in his favor.

The man only nods, and blonde hair like sunshine bobs gently up and down. Merlin’s stomach does a double flip-flop and stays that way until the fit bloke with perfect hair and a perfect jaw and a perfect… well, everything, turns around to take a gander at the clear plastic candy bins. The bins are stacked one on top of the other in threes, and there’s a line of them about fifteen across, set against the wall at the other end. The shop really does boast an impressive assortment considering its small size.

Then the man does something unexpected: he strolls over to one of the baskets at either end of the row of candy bins, and plucks a cellophane bag from the rest of the bunch. Then, with Merlin watching his every move, the bloke walks towards the bins with the jellybeans and flips open the lid to one – the cherry flavoured beans – and pours a neat little scoop of the candy into the bag.

Utterly taken aback, Merlin continues to spectate. Pretty eyes and perfect hair gets another scoop of the yellow jelly beans flavoured lemon, and one last scoop of the blue raspberry, which Merlin hates. He cringes when the plastic-looking blue beans go cascading into the cellophane, creating a satisfying cacophony of candy against candy on the way down, like heavy rainfall in Merlin’s ears.

And as if the blue jellybeans weren’t enough to get under Merlin’s skin, the man has the gall to open another bin and reach inside, pinching a single lemon jawbreaker and popping it into his mouth. Merlin purses his lips, but doesn’t call the man out. It’s just one little piece of candy, after all.

And besides, he likes how the man looks with one cheek just a little bigger than the other, stuffed with the jawbreaker while he goes on surveying the rest of the bins, content and unaware that he’s being watched. At least, Merlin doesn’t think he’ll notice.

Luckily for Merlin, the customer that he’d previously suspected was a snoop for some big company is really just a customer after all. And he does not, thankfully, swipe any more loose pieces of candy while Merlin watches like a hawk.

After what feels like an eternity of just eyeing the bloke in the button-down as he thoroughly inspects the rest of the bins, the man is suddenly in front of Merlin, holding the bag and looking across the counter expectantly.

“Find everything you were looking for?” Merlin asks, all politeness and false confidence.

The man’s voice is warm, and maybe a little teasing, when he answers, “Yes, just fine, thank you. Did you?”

Merlin smiles thinly like he does when he’s on autopilot – but then he registers the words.

“S-sorry?” he stammers, forgetting that he’s meant to be weighing the bag so that he can ring it up. Then the man actually _smirks_ at him.

“Oh come on, don’t think I didn’t notice the way you were watching me two minutes ago,” he says, and there’s nothing false about his confidence at all. “So, did you?”

Merlin can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. “Erm, did I what?” he asks, cautiously looking from the bag of candy to the suddenly-intense blue eyes.

“Did you find everything that you were looking for?”

Oh, so that’s how it’s going to be, is it? Merlin refrains from scowling, thinking, fine, if the man wants to play coy, then he can play, too.

“Yes, I think so,” he replies coolly, then settles down to properly weigh the jellybeans on the scale.

“I’m glad. My name’s Arthur, by the way.”

Merlin smirks right back, not ready to give in just yet. “Nice to meet you, Arthur. That’ll be five ninety-five,” he says, curt and polite. The man isn’t buying it for a minute.

“Perfect. Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

“Merlin,” he replies tritely, “would you like a receipt for that?”

“And a pen, if it’s not too much trouble.” Merlin looks curiously at the man but gets out a pen at his request . The man, Arthur, takes the pen without a word and scribbles something down on the back of the receipt, then clicks the pen and hands it back, along with the slip of paper. “On second thought, you can keep the receipt. You need it more than I do.”

Suspicious, Merlin frowns but takes the pen and the receipt back. Arthur flicks his eyes from the paper to Merlin, and Merlin flips the receipt over. There’s a phone number written where the credit signature should be.

“Are you free tonight?” Arthur asks, casual on the surface but highly suggestive to Merlin’s ears, and waits for an answer.

Merlin isn’t sure what to say. Something in the back of his brain faintly registers the question, but everything is quickly reverting to autopilot before he can help it, and before he knows what he’s doing he says, “Ask me after I close up, and you can find out.”

In hindsight, it might be the best thing he could have said, even if he felt like an awkward idiot at the time.

*****

The man called Arthur takes once last glance around the shop, pays for the jellybeans (seriously, who buys five pounds’ worth of jellybeans anyway?) and says a quick “cheerio then,” all posh and very much the prat Merlin had been suspecting, but his smile is genuine when he turns around and heads out the door. The bells jingle cheerily. Merlin bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning too hard.

He closes early that afternoon.

*****

Of course, Arthur – Arthur _Pendragon_ , Merlin discovers over the phone – just had to be the son of one of the most prominent faces in the candy business. _Camelot_ _Confectionary_?  
  
So Merlin had been right all along; the man’s a well-to-do heir to a confectionary business; a business with the potential of becoming an empire. And said company also happens to supply all of the chocolate that’s sold at retail price at Treat Yourself.  
  
Merlin isn't quite sure how he feels about this.  
  
What he _does_ know is that Arthur looks incredible with his sleeves rolled up the way they were, back in the shop.  
  
Naturally, the posh prat’s chosen one of the upscale restaurants just a stone’s throw away from Merlin's sweet shop, on the claim that it would "be easy for you to find the place on such short notice. After all, you seemed like the scatterbrained type, _Merlin_." Merlin had scowled at the comment over the phone - Arthur had put Merlin’s cell number to use almost immediately after his drop-by for the jellybeans - but agreed to meet at eight sharp for dinner.

Merlin looks in the mirror one last time, resolutely decides on the deep purple button-down with the top two buttons undone, no tie, and a pair of slim-fitting black jeans, neat and clean for the occasion. He takes a deep breath to steel himself, runs a hand through his hair, and nods to his reflection. Everything will be fine. He waves goodbye to Aithusa, his little white cat. The fluffy Persian sits on the dresser and eyeballs Merlin’s outfit with distaste, but Merlin ignores the look. Too late to change now, anyway.

*****

 

In a maroon button-down with the sleeves rolled up, navy slacks hugging his legs (and arse) just right, and hair artfully mussed for a night out to a nice dinner, Arthur looks deathly gorgeous.

Against all assumptions Merlin could have made about the heir to a future confectionary empire, Arthur is only a little bit prattish, and much less the arrogant prick Merlin was expecting.  
  
In fact, the man is downright charming, from his winning smile all the way down to the moments where he sneaks food from Merlin's plate and laughs openly over a glass of Sauvignon Blanc.  
  
It's a posh place. Merlin almost hadn't agreed but Arthur insisted, almost aggressively so, that he pay full expense for the dinner.  
  
That is, if Merlin promised to bring him a bag of jellybeans on the second date.  
  
"Who said anything about a second date?" Merlin asks, raising a quizzical brow. Arthur grins and sips at his wine.  
  
"Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any to ask. Would you like to do this again some time?" he leans forward, eager and genuine, eyes bright.  
  
Merlin laughs, tipsy from the wine and happy that he's actually going out, on a _date,_ after years of not being in any sort of relationship; happy that he's gotten to meet Arthur, someone who really shouldn't wear his sleeves rolled up if he knows what's good for him. Merlin is happy.  
  
"Definitely," he says, and Arthur beams.

 

*****

  
After dinner, they both take a stroll down the lamplit road and across the street to Merlin's shop. It might be after hours, but Merlin's got the key.  
  
He buys Arthur a small bag of his favorite gummy bears, and the two of them happily gobble up the sweets before heading back the way they came.  
  
Arthur offers to drive Merlin home, and Merlin, still tipsy and happily buzzed, accepts the offer. The twenty minute drive is peaceful, full of light teasing and banter. “Really, Merlin, you manage a candy shop and you didn’t even know that the owner of Camelot Confections had a son? I suppose I was right about the scatterbrained bit.” Merlin pretends to be annoyed, before Arthur’s open laughter forces him to crack a smile. Soon they’re both laughing like idiots and the last of the gummy bears are eaten halfway through the car ride.

On the doorstep to the two-story flat, Arthur steals a kiss on Merlin's cheek. Merlin thinks with giddy delight that this, most definitely, it much sweeter than any candy he's ever tried.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, this fic sort of started out as a really long note on my phone, since I work in a candy store and sometimes get a little downtime. I'm not entirely sure if it'll continue, but let me know what you think about it so far!

Merlin yawns, clicking the pricing gun and sticking another tag labelled 2,99 onto a bag of toffees. Prices have gone up again, all because there aren’t enough customers finding their way into the little shop on the corner, even though they’re right across the street from a very successful restaurant.

During the weekends candy sales go up, especially around dinner time. The holidays are especially nuts; Merlin normally gets two, sometimes three extra employees to help out behind the counter, gift-wrapping boxes of truffles or cutting tulle for bows.

During the summer, however, the place is pretty much dead. A stray customer or two, sometimes a pack of twelve-year-old girls with their weekly allowance burning a hole in their pockets, or a middle-aged woman with a bad dye job and sunglasses, grabbing 75c worth of bridge mix while yapping on her mobile.

Merlin always feels sorry for the kids who come in with exactly four or five pounds given to them by their parents, only to find that the bag they’ve loaded with gummy bears and licorice weighs substantially more than they can pay. Being a sucker for kids who just want their daily sugar fix, Merlin sometimes – but not often – lies about the cost and tells the kid a lower price, then pays the extra few pounds himself. His uncle doesn’t seem to have caught onto it, but really, there’s no harm in it; as long as the money is going in the shop’s register, it’s not actually cheating the shop out of any coin.

Merlin sighs, setting down the last labelled toffee bag and stretching his back, arms reaching high above his head to loosen stiff muscles.

He’s been re-labelling price tags for the past hour, and before that he was refilling the candy bins one by one, which is a pain on the best of days. To refill the bins, Merlin has to get down on hands and knees to get into the cabinets hidden below the bottom row, where the three-kilogram bags of gummies are stored in bulk.

He stows away the label gun and scans the bins to double check if he’s missed one.

Sure enough, the bin of lemon flavoured jellybeans is only half-full. Right. Merlin shrugs and circles around the counter, heading across the black and white checkered flooring to kneel in front of the storage cabinets. He has to duck his head to see inside, and it always feels a bit awkward to have his arse in the air and his face hidden – what if a customer walked in right at that moment and that was the first thing they saw? Well, Merlin would probably have one less customer to worry about.

The bell above the doorway jingles. Merlin startles, and very nearly thunks his head into the side of the storage cabinet. He draws his head out just as someone wolf-whistles from behind, and Merlin’s heart freezes. Shit. A customer. And one that certainly is _not_ shy.

Merlin turns and scrambles to his feet with the sought-after candy bag in his arms, hoping to play the last ten seconds off like it was nothing strange. He was just re-stocking candy. It’s a valid excuse.

But his blood pressure slows again when Merlin realizes that the customer isn’t just a customer; it’s Arthur.

“Please, don’t let me interrupt… whatever it was you were doing,” Arthur drawls, a glint in his eye. His mouth curls into a slow smile. Merlin’s glad he’s holding a bag of jellybeans, or else Arthur would know exactly how _much_ of an effect that smile is having on Merlin right now.

“Liked that, did you?” Merlin teases back easily enough as he toes the cabinet shut with his foot, the great bag of jellybeans cradled in his arms like a newborn. He cocks a hip and tries to go for nonchalant and effortlessly seductive, but he probably looks more like a deranged Willy Wonka, hair messy and shadows under his eyes, name tag lopsided while he adjusts the oversized bag to completely cover his front – particularly the area just below his belt-line.

Arthur catches the fidgeting and his eyes follow Merlin’s actions, widening for just a fraction of a second before returning to normal. Normal, meaning somewhat hooded and a little too sultry for a casual meeting in the middle of a candy shop.

They’ve been on four dates now: The first had gone as well as it could have; the second, not so much. The two of them had met up at a park two and a half streets down from Treat Yourself, and Merlin, not being careful with the box of saltines he’d brought with him, had attracted more geese than either of them would have liked for a picnic. Granted, Arthur still laughed about it later, much to Merlin’s dismay.

The third date had been nice. Lunch at a little café closer to the posh neighborhood where Arthur lived with his father and half-sister, Morgana. Arthur had promised Merlin that he wouldn’t introduce Merlin to either of them if he could help it.

Merlin, very wisely, kept his questions about Arthur’s family to a minimum, which Arthur seemed to appreciate. The vegetable paninis from the café that day were excellent, but the conversation was even better.

The fourth date was dinner at Arthur’s home – thankfully, Uther Pendragon was on a week-long business trip to Switzerland, and Morgana was in France for a friend’s wedding.

Merlin had taken one look at Arthur’s home – scratch that, Arthur’s bloody _mansion,_ what else should he have been expecting? – and gaped like a grouper fish.

“Oh, for god’s sakes, Merlin, I can’t help it if my father decides he wants to live in a palace instead of a nice little cottage by the sea, can I?” While not entirely disagreeing, Merlin had still rolled his eyes.

Arthur had cooked, and Merlin teased him while holding the salt shaker out of Arthur’s reach when he went to use it in the stew bubbling on the stove – for that, he’d earned a fleeting kiss, meant as a distraction while Arthur pried the salt shaker from Merlin’s stubborn grip. All in all, probably the best date out of the four.

“How’s business been?” asks Arthur, taking Merlin out of the memory abruptly.

“Hm? Ah, yeah, good.” His brow furrows, then he adds, “well, not so good. Pretty dead, actually… I don’t get it!” he whines, “There’s plenty of restaurants and people with money around here, but for what _ever_ reason, they just don’t seem to notice us!” Merlin huffs dramatically before shaking his head and shuffling back to the bin of lemon jellybeans. Without much aplomb, he tears open the corner of the bag with two fingers and pours a tidal wave of candy into the plastic bin until it’s almost overflowing. “Of course, you being the heir to a candy empire, _you’ve_ got nothing to worry about.”

Arthur snorts from behind. “There’s more to it than just being Uther Pendragon’s son, _Merlin.”_

Merlin ignores the jibe.

“Have you been advertising? Putting out ads in the papers, made a twitter page for the shop for updates on sales, maybe passed out fliers?”

Merlin shakes his head “no” to all and keeps on pouring. Arthur gives Merlin a look, as though he’s just solved all the shop’s problems with a single question. And all right, maybe he has. Merlin knows that the shop doesn’t really advertise much.

God only knows they need the money for other things like, oh, _rent_. The various renovations made to most of the nearby buildings, transforming them into posh restaurants and high-end clothing stores, haven’t exactly made the shop’s monthly bills any lower. But Merlin supposes he could’ve at least helped his uncle make a twitter page for the shop.

“You could even hire someone to be the face of the store, if you really want to look legitimate,” Arthur notes.

“Face of the shop?” Merlin asks, rolling up the jellybean bag to store away the remains. Arthur nods thoughtfully.

“Sure, you know, like a mascot. You’d have to get someone who looks fairly decent – and a winning smile is a huge plus – snap a photo or two, and use them as your shop’s representative. Hell, _you_ could even do it.” He gestures to Merlin.

Merlin doesn’t seem too keen on the idea. He’s never liked being in pictures, or being the center of attention. “I don’t know about _that--”_

“Oh come on, you would be fine! Perfect, in fact.”

“What, are you saying I’m a decent-looking bloke then?” says Merlin, mockingly. Arthur’s expression immediately turns sultry again, eyes flicking up and down Merlin’s body, making the other man turn a nice shade of bubblegum pink.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Arthur answers, and his voice is suddenly low and husky, all traces of teasing gone. Merlin stands rooted to his spot in front of the candy bins, forgetting that he’s supposed to be putting away the bag of jellybeans.

Arthur takes a step closer, then another, until the two of them are so close that their chests would be touching – if Merlin wasn’t still holding the bag.

Arthur’s grin spreads wide at the sight of Merlin blushing even harder when he fumbles to readjust the bag over a very particular area. A beat of silence where Merlin continues in vain to collect his sanity, and then Arthur is leaning forward, his lips hovering right next to the shell of Merlin’s ear. “Your place?” Arthur whispers. Warm breath tickles the skin beneath Merlin’s earlobe. He swallows.

“Absolutely.”

Merlin’s just glad that his voice doesn’t crack on the word, because that would’ve been _ten_ times more embarrassing than using a bag of jellybeans to hide the obvious fact that he’s feeling hotter than the cinnamon flavoured hot tamales in the bin behind him.

Arthur takes his time to leave, sidling calmly out of the store as he lets door close behind him, bell jingling on the way out. Merlin nearly trips to stash the candy away and get the shop key to lock up. He closes especially early that afternoon.

*****

Merlin’s not quite sure what happened in the space between the candy shop and arriving at his flat with Arthur– all he knows is, one minute he’s locking up and getting in Arthur’s car, and the next, they’re fucking over the table in the kitchen of Merlin’s flat.

He really hopes the neighbors aren’t home.

Someone lets out a moan so loud he’s certain the people four flats over can hear them, and Merlin is shocked afterwards to realize it was him.

Suddenly, Arthur delivers a particularly sharp _thrust,_ and the table legs scrape like nails on a chalkboard against the floor. Merlin cringes at the sound, bracing himself tighter over the table, fingers digging into the sides of the wooden surface and his nose almost grazing the tabletop each time Arthur pushes in, roughly, but not exactly painful. Just right.

The door is locked, Merlin’s keys are _some_ where, and he’s pretty sure his jeans ended up under the coffee table in the sitting room, while his button-down (and Arthur’s) landed, perhaps, anywhere between the front door and the kitchen. Right now, neither of them could care less.

It’s over a little too quickly, but neither Arthur nor Merlin can find it in them to complain, both covered in a sheen of sweat, the dampness mixing between them when Arthur presses himself to Merlin’s back and drops his head to plant a gentle kiss between the bony shoulder blades.

“I think,” Arthur mutters, still trying to get his breath back, “that you should model for the shop, just like this.”

“Stark naked over a kitchen table, you mean?” Merlin huffs back, exhausted but still able to give a weak laugh.

“Mmm, precisely,” Arthur mumbles into the skin between Merlin’s shoulders, before pressing another kiss there, and another, and then one behind Merlin’s left ear for good measure, tickling against soft, raven curls that are still damp with sweat. Merlin sighs, and relaxes, but then he takes Arthur by surprise when he turns his head just in time to catch the man’s mouth with his own, before Arthur can pull away.

This, Merlin, thinks, definitely qualifies as the new winner for best date out of five.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… this fic wasn’t even supposed to have more than one chapter. There’s a storyline now, how is there a storyline?
> 
> Ah well, since you guys asked. Third chapter! (Based on real events at the candy store I work at. Not the risqué bit, though.)

They're out of lemon jelly beans again. For once, Merlin decides to ignore it. He's not in the mood to refill the bins. It's too close to closing time, anyway.  
  
It’s half nine, the sun has long since been replaced with a waning moon, and Merlin's ready to close up. But, of course, it's never as easy as that.  
  
"Hi! Um, are you open?"  
  
A girl with a school bag slung over both shoulders and a striped dress that makes her look like she's ready to go to a party is standing at the front counter. Her gaze isn't on Merlin, but rather on the long row of candy bins lining the opposite wall. Merlin plasters on the cheeriest expression he can hope for after working for seven hours straight. “Sure, we don’t close for another half hour." He nods towards the rows of bin candy against the far wall. "Feel free.”

“Cheers,” the girl says with a smile, then makes a beeline for the back of the shop where they keep all the mugs with clever sayings and heartfelt quotes painted on them. She picks out two; one is a coffee thermos that’s brown with blue polka dots and has a lid, the other is pink and white, with the phrase “She who must be obeyed” painted on in swirly lettering.  
  
"Is it all right if I leave these here?” she asks, floating back over to the counter with the merchandise in hand, “I'm just going to look around a bit more." Merlin nods, and the girl places both mugs on the counter. He pushes them to the side a bit, just in case he ends up needing room for more trinkets and tchotchkes that the girl seems so keen on collecting. While Merlin watches, Schoolbag strolls at an unhurried pace around the shop, eyeing this and that, picking up a small bag of marshmallows here, some pre-wrapped fudge there, and even takes a look at the clear plastic tackle boxes cleverly filled with colour-coded candies.  
  
The girl seems nice, and she's definitely not pissed or recently been smoking anything questionable, so at least Merlin knows that she's not buying the slew products against her better judgment. Merlin tries to calculate just how much the final cost will be, watching as the pile in Schoolbag’s arms grows bigger.  
  
The bell above the door jingles.  
  
"Oh my gosh! Look at how much _candy_ there is!!" A little boy squeals at the heavenly sight of so many colors, pure sugar calling to him and the little girl who must be his sister following close behind. Merlin suppresses a grimace at the sound. God help him.

The two children rush the basket where the cellophane bags are held, like predators locking onto their prey, and quickly get down to the business of stuffing the bags as full of candy as they can, before their parents can come in and tell them off.  
  
The young woman with the schoolbag and the dress is also filling up a bag of her own, only much more slowly. From the looks of it, she intends to take a little bit of candy from every single bin in the store.  
  
Merlin silently pats himself on the back for staying open late; he's going to make at _least_ another fifty pounds for the shop tonight. And a few pounds on the side, thanks to the little kids going wild by the bin of gummi dinosaurs.  
  
The bell jingles again - ah, here come the parents.  
  
Then comes the almighty _clatter_ of a wayward scoop of jellybeans crashing to the floor.

Merlin shuts his eyes and counts to ten. He can clean it up easily. There’s a broom in the back room. Sweeping is not a difficult thing to do.

He repeats that over and over to himself until the tension between his shoulders eases. He just isn't fond of people who can't figure out how to put candy into a bloody cellophane bag-- no matter that they can't be older than five and ten, these kids.

The parents look towards Merlin apologetically. He forces a smile and lets them carry on with trying to control their children; it’s probably too late, anyway. The colourful bins have already drawn them in too far. Those kids are done for – and consequently, so are the parents.

Bags filled, both kids scurry up to the front counter and plunk the bulging bags onto the scale. Merlin clicks in the price per pound onto the electric scale and winces internally. The parents aren’t going to enjoy paying this much for a couple bags of candy, but unfortunately, the store has a no-return policy once the candy is in the bag. There’s even a sign that says so.

He schools his expression, types the amount into the register, and turns back around. “That’ll be eighteen fifty.”

The mother, probably late thirties and dressed for a night out, presses her lips together in a thin line. But, to Merlin’s relief, she doesn’t snarl at him like an angry tiger or ask if they can return the candy, as most sane adults would do. Clearly, this family’s able to afford it. While the father tries to quell the delighted noises of the two happy children and their spoils, the mum hands Merlin a shiny silver credit card, which Merlin takes with a polite smile. He swipes the card through. The register _dings_ and slides open for him.

Eighteen pounds towards keeping this damned child death-trap of a shop open.

At least it’s high-quality candy.

With a final thanks and a wave from the little kids, the family exits the shop and Merlin, through the clear glass door and floor-to-ceiling windows of the shop, sees them all sit down on the benches just outside. Not an uncommon thing for customers to do after buying candy, but it’s odd to Merlin that they would let their kids go at the candy so late at night instead of driving them right home for bed.

Ten minutes later, Schoolbag is still carefully filling her candy bag, and the family of four still hasn’t moved from the benches outside. Huh.

Five minutes until nine, the girl finally brings up her masterpiece to the counter: a one kilo, maybe two kilo bag of candy, layers upon layers of jellybeans on top of licorice allsorts on top of non-pareils, and undoubtedly very expensive already. When Merlin had warned her of the pricing and their no-return policy before she even picked up a bag, the girl had nodded comprehensively and gone about her business.

Merlin is impressed. He assumes the bag will be shared with multiple other people, but with people like this, he can never really be sure. He’s learned not to make hasty assumptions about customers and to what extent they’ll go to satisfy their sweet tooth.

 

Just as he’s about to heft the great bag of sweets onto the scale, the door opens again. Merlin grinds his teeth. He knows he should’ve turned off the bloody _Open_ sign before ringing this customer up.

But, as it turns out, it’s just the kids from earlier.

The mum follows close behind. Surprisingly, the children – much more sedated now, thankfully – don’t head towards the bins again. Instead, they watch.

“Sorry, ehm,” the mother stammers, turning a bit pink. “They wanted to see what that bag would weigh out to. Hers, there.” She points at the hulking candy bag in Merlin’s hand. Merlin, expecting to see the girl with the schoolbag looking back with embarrassment, turns to see her laughing good-naturedly. Her face is lit up, bright with surprise.

“Oh, that’s adorable!” she says. Then she looks back at Merlin, nodding to the bag. “Well, what’re you waiting for?” she asks, more laughter following the question. “Let’s see what it weighs!”

As Merlin suspected, it weighs in at two kilos. When he announces the weight, the two children gawk and shriek in delight, even though they probably haven’t the faintest idea of how much two kilos actually is. But they’ve been thoroughly impressed, even the mother has raised an eyebrow. She clearly doesn’t expect this to turn out well. But she grabs both her children by the hands, nods a gracious thank you, and leaves the store with the happy children in tow.

Merlin sighs.

“Gotta love kids, eh?” says the girl. Merlin snorts. Then he rings up the subtotal on the register. He tries not to grimace when he tells her the final price.

It’s come to over eighty pounds. Instead of dropping dead on the floor, the girl laughs lightly, fishes around in her enormous purse for her wallet, and hands Merlin a green and pink card. Merlin swipes it and hands it back with a pen and receipt. “Just sign this right here, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all,” the girl giggles, looking at all of her purchases neatly packed away into bags. She shakes her head like she’s just done something perfectly normal, if a little silly. Silly is an understatement. Only someone who’s gone mad would pay eighty pounds on candy and coffee mugs.

“Careful now, don’t go writing down your number. It only works the first time.”

A masculine voice, familar and warm. Merlin doesn’t need to turn around to recognize that voice.

“You’re late,” Merlin says, grinning. He forgets about the candy for a second and sets it on the counter.

The girl, about to heft her bags of loot and take them away, looks between the two men, most likely trying to piece together how they know each other. When it dawns on her, she looks apologetically to Merlin.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I wasn’t trying to flirt or anything, I’m just a ridiculously extroverted person really and--”

“It’s perfectly fine,” Arthur interrupts, kindly waving off the needless excuse. He knows perfectly well that the girl is just another customer. Schoolbag seems to be put a bit more at ease by Arthur’s nonchalant smile and friendly tone. “Merlin’s just naturally magnetic. Right, Merlin?”

******

Arthur’s been staying late at work for the past week to wrap up some last-minute financial things with his father’s company. They’ve been trying to partner with another, smaller company to sell not only gourmet chocolates, but some of the finest hand-pulled taffy this side of the pond. Arthur hates the work, but it pays well; if anything, it at least allows him to keep his nice flat in the city for whenever he feels like he needs some time off from his father and, heaven forbid, a visiting hag in the guise of Morgana Gorlois.

He thinks back on the last conversation he had with his half-sister. Namely, the one he had right after the damned woman walked in on him and Merlin curled together on the sofa, watching _The Princess Bride_ and sharing a tub of buttery popcorn.

After Arthur mumbled a hasty goodbye to Merlin (at which time Merlin quickly pecked him on the cheek and told him he needed to get home, anyway) he’d showed Merlin none-too-gracefully out the door and snapped it shut. Merlin would understand.

When he turned around, it was to see a disgusting simper of a smile pulling at Morgana’s perfectly reddened lips. She was a walking Dior advertisement today, complete with an understated cashmere blouse that looked entirely too red carpet when she wore it, tight black pants that hugged her legs in all the right places, and designer heels that she never left home without. The expression on her face spelled _run._

But Arthur, coward though he might have been in the face of Morgana Gorlois, did not run.

“You two…”

“Morgana, I don’t have time--”

“Are positively _adorable._ ” She laughed delightedly, clapping splendidly manicured hands together like a child. “I knew you two were dating, but you never told me you were already bloody _married,_ Arthur. Really, I would’ve gotten you both a lovely wedding gift. A new cottage by the seaside, maybe, Merlin seems like the type who would enjoy something like that.” She bats her eyes, before adding, "The two of you are disgustingly domestic, I _love_ it."

Arthur had not been amused. “Why are you here, Morgana?”

If anything, Morgana looked more put out and irritated than downright offended at Arthur’s blatant question. “What! I can’t come spend some quality time with my dear brother?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. His father would have told him off for acting so petulant, but Uther Pendragon wasn’t here right now. “You can, but it never seems like you can do it without asking a favor of me.”

Morgana opened her mouth, perhaps to to deliver a witty retort, but then snapped it shut again. She obviously hadn't thought up a good enough lie for such an accusation. Not that it mattered. After a split-second’s lapse in thought, she said, “All right. Uther’s been on my case again.”

“What else is new.”

“ _And,_ something tells me he’s looking to have me work for him and the company.”

Arthur’s nose scrunched. “I sincerely hope not.”

“And to that, my dear brother, we are in agreement.” Morgana sighed dramatically as she pulled the yellow silk scarf away from her head, letting perfectly tousled tresses tumble down across her shoulders. “He’s been having people over to my place for a solid fortnight now, knocking on my door or calling me at odd hours to see if I’ll talk to them. They all want to make deals – some of them aren’t even Uther’s. It seems I’m a desirable chess piece in the game they call business.” She scoffed. With much less grace and poise than she would ever allow of herself in public, she flopped onto Arthur's plush couch, still littered with stray pieces of popcorn. “I’m the lead director of distribution for a glassware company, and I handle finances for a local candy shop on the side. Really, you’d think they were clamoring for Princess Di to become the next vice president of a damned confectionary.”

"You certainly act like it."

Morgana stuck out her tongue, very un-princess-like. "I work my arse off too, you know. I deserve to come over and throw a fit every once in a while. Be grateful I didn't decide to drop in at Uther's first. Don't worry, I'll be staying there for the most part. But I'm afraid I'll have to insist on staying here on weekends. You won't mind, will you?"

Just when Arthur thought things had cooled down in his life, Morgana always had to flounce her way into his home and find a way to spice up the drama.

At least she wasn’t a messy house guest.

******

Arthur offers to take Merlin home that night, after helping to close up the candy shop. He remarks on the fact that all the bins and chocolate cases are kept filled to the brim, but Merlin constantly forgets to do necessary chores like sweeping the floors and taking out the rubbish.

“It’s a good thing your shop's waste consists mainly of tulle and pricing stickers, or the shop would be smelling of rubbish come morning. How have you been getting by for so long?”

Merlin pouts, sticking out his tongue in much the same manner as that of a toddler. “You make it sound like I’m completely helpless, _Arthur_. I’ll have you know I’m perfectly capable of cleaning up after myself. I just like to take my time is all.”

“Really? Because from what I understand, you tend to rush to finish things. Don’t you, _Merlin._ ”

Merlin doesn’t miss the insinuation, and also doesn’t miss a beat when he replies, “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want to back that up with evidence?”

Without so much as a pause in the flow of the banter, Arthur says, “Come home with me tonight, and I’m sure I can gather all the evidence I need.”

Merlin’s mock pout curls up into a smirk. Arthur stares at the _sexy,_ hooded gaze playing around Merlin’s ocean-blue eyes, and nearly veers into a lamp post.

He flicks the wheel back just in time.

Merlin chuckles. “You know, I’d like to know what you’d have done if that girl really _had_ been trying something on me, back in the shop.”

“I don’t trust her type,” Arthur mutters, clearing his head by turning most of his attention back to the road. “Flirting up the staff to get a little _sweet stuff_ , free of charge. I don’t like it."

“Well then,” Merlin murmurs, and has the audacity to bite his lip suggestively just as Arthur takes a peek back around his periphery. “Why don’t we head back to your place, and you can inform me of just how much you dislike it when customers try to get too comfortable with the shop manager?”

Another lamp post is saved that night when Arthur catches himself a second time, centering the car in the single lane and staring directly at the road, unwilling to let himself be caught off guard before they can make it to the relative safety of the Pendragon household…

“Shit,” Arthur swears, slamming a hand on the side of the wheel, startling Merlin.

“What?”

“Morgana,” hisses Arthur, a look of murder clouding his face. “She’s visiting for the week.”

“ _What?”_

“Possibly the month.”

“I thought she was just stopping by for the day?” Merlin's eyes are wide open now.

“As if she ever just _stops by,”_ Arthur grumbles bitterly. Then he perks up as a thought comes to him. “We can go to my place in the city. It's only half an hour away… think you can make it until then?” he asks.

Merlin grins, mischief painting his own features. “Can _you_?”

Arthur floors it.

With any luck, they’ll make it to the city in less than twenty.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised myself I would never write smut, yet here I am. I am trash. But I also love these two dumbasses, so I’m keeping them. Go nuts, you guys.

“Uh… unh… _ahh…”_

Arthur snorts into the crook of Merlin’s neck, breathing hot air over the sweaty patch of warm skin. “You’re so _loud,_ ” he chastises, pressing a kiss to the exposed skin, just before using teeth to bring out a rather loud cry from the man pinned beneath him.

“N-neighbors… aren’t home,” Merlin manages to croak out before receiving another bite on his neck that’s just hard enough to spike his pulse. “Can be ‘s loud as I want. O’Henry’s are away on holiday and – _unh!_ Ar _thur_ – and the Smiths are visiting family in C-Croatia… _gah!”_ His earlobe is suddenly between Arthur’s teeth. It’s become evident, the more they do this, that Arthur enjoys _biting,_ or at least he seems to realize just how much Merlin loves it.

Either way, it’s highly enjoyable for the both of them.

Merlin turns his head a fraction so that their noses brush. Arthur laughs – which does _things_ to the both of them in such a position – and Merlin groans.

Then, a set of hands is digging their fingers into his sides. “Ah- ahaha! Arthur, s- _stop!_ ” Merlin cackles, wheezing like a wounded animal. Arthur just loves to poke fun at Merlin; more specifically, he loves to exploit just how ticklish his boyfriend is, especially when caught unawares in the throes of sex.

After a few more moments of hilarious wheezing and laughing, Arthur shows some mercy and takes his hands away, moving them to Merlin’s hips instead to give himself better leverage. The grind of their hips together is so slow it’s almost painful, and each little push sends flashes of white shooting behind Merlin’s eyes. His head is spinning, dizzy and happy and not-quite-there yet.

Arthur seems to be feeling likewise, because he speeds up. His mouth presses into the junction of Merlin’s neck and shoulder; the smell there is heady, with notes of sage and sweat and vanilla and… gods have mercy, the cheeky bugger is wearing _cologne._

Not a lot, but just enough to send Arthur into a tizzy. Merlin had been prepared for this – Arthur had not.

Their movements become harried, desperate and harsh, and the headboard of the king-sized bed in Arthur’s flat _tap-taps_. A few more seconds, and the tap-tapping becomes a _thump-thump!_ of wood against the wall.

Then another smell catches Arthur by surprise: the slightest hint of chocolate.

Arthur almost loses his sanity for a second.

It’s _funny_. He keeps forgetting that Merlin works eight, sometimes ten hours a day in a candy store. Of _course_ he smells like chocolate.

Gods, and Arthur loves it.

Merlin, clinging to Arthur’s back from beneath and leaving small scratch marks up and down his shoulders, ruts back up, trying to last while simultaneously wanting it to end right bloody _now_.

“You smell… _ungh!”_ Arthur forgets what he was about to say when Merlin grabs his waist roughly and pulls them flush together, and Arthur sees stars.

The moving stops. Merlin’s grip slackens. “I _smell?_ ” he pants, confusion creasing his brow. The fringe of black sticks to his forehead. Arthur remembers what he was about to say.

“What – no! I mean yes. I mean… no?” He stutters, mortified. That wasn’t how he meant it to come out at all.

Merlin lifts an eyebrow. He does not, thankfully, move to get out from under Arthur, and Arthur doesn’t move to pull out. He stumbles over his words a bit, attempting to regain some sort of composure while his hairline is dark with perspiration and his face is flushed pink.

“I wanted to say, you smell _good_ ,” he elaborates, breathing heavily.

“…Oh.” Merlin’s eyes widen. “Oh!”

Arthur breathes a sigh of relief. His heart skips a beat when, the next time he meets Merlin’s eyes, the man is chuckling. “New cologne…. You noticed.”

“Well of _course_ I noticed, for the love of god, Merlin!” Arthur complains, gripping Merlin’s hips tighter, “The _things_ you do to me.” He shakes his head helplessly and inhales. “You’d think being yourself was crime enough, but then you had to go and smell like _chocolate_ \--”

“Chocolate?” Merlin’s expression turns confused again. Their movements have all but come to a standstill. Arthur desperately wants to start back up, and grinds his hips teasingly into the other man’s pelvis, hoping to distract him. But Merlin is now distracted by the chocolate comment. “My cologne isn’t chocolate scented,” he murmurs. “You mean I smell like the shop? The candy shop?”

“Yes, Merlin, you smell like the chocolate in your blasted shop.” His grips tightens. He's laughing a little.

“Um…. Do you like it, though?” Merlin asks, sounding a little sheepish. When Arthur turns his head to face him, the idiot’s grinning like a… well, like an idiot. Arthur practically melts.

“Well, yes,” he admits, “Of course I like it.”

“I smell like the chocolate from… Camelot Confectionary.”

“ _Yes_.” Arthur is starting to feel impatient. Unfortunately, Merlin appears to be thoroughly preoccupied by another thought now.

“What you’re saying is,” he continues, “I smell like your company’s chocolate…. Oh, this is rich,” he snickers, shaking his head to himself, amused by god knows what. Arthur gives him a searching look.

“And?”

Merlin is really laughing now, which kick-starts the incredible feeling that had been present between them before Arthur’s semi-faux pas. The two of them start back up where they left off, with Merlin groaning unabashedly into the crook of Arthur’s neck, burying his nose in strands of gold. Arthur smells spicy, with a hint of musk. Light, classy. It’s so… him. Merlin can’t describe it properly.

“So,” Merlin pants after a minute, out of the blue, “Does this mean you’ll be getting hard all the time, now that you’ll be thinking of me every time you smell chocolate?” He smirks into Arthur’s collarbone and presses a kiss there, then works his way up to plant a sloppier one on the corner of Arthur’s mouth. A leg hooks around Arthur’s lower back to draw him in impossibly closer.

Arthur’s jaw goes slack; he hadn’t thought of that.

Shit. He works in the _candy business._ He’s around chocolate almost every day.

He is so, so screwed.

Now Merlin’s grinning and laughing openly, and tauntingly moving his hips to get Arthur going again. Oh, Arthur is absolutely going to make Merlin _pay_ for this.

 

*****

 

“You two shagged, didn’t you.” Honestly, she just can't help getting into other people's business, can she?

“Get out of my house, Morgana, it’s not Saturday yet.”

“It’s Friday. It counts as the weekend.”

 

Merlin had gone home with Arthur on Thursday night – and left at 8 a.m. the next morning for work. Arthur had woken to a light kiss on his cheek and a ruffle of his hair. He’d smiled to himself when he found the lingering smell of light cologne and chocolate on his pillows.

And then, of course, the spell just had to be broken when he’d walked into the kitchen in his boxer-briefs and black tee shirt, hair flat on one side and hopelessly mussed on the other, to find that he was not alone in his city flat.

 

Morgana sits casually on one of the stools by the white marbled island, wearing black skinny jeans and a chic, pastel pink blouse that ties at the neck. Her hair is pulled into a stylishly messy coif, braided in the back with dark wisps hanging free, and it’s clear that she isn’t in a rush to get to work until she’s said a proper hello to her brother.

Arthur gives a start when he walks into the kitchen and sees Morgana grinning back at him, much like a cat who’s cornered a frightened bird.

“It’s the weekend, Friday counts as the weekend. I’ve brought some of my things to leave here, just in case there’s a family emergency and I need to go somewhere where I don’t have to put up with Uther and his antics,” Morgana waves a vague hand in the air. Warm sunshine peeks in through the window above the stove, where Arthur’s small, stainless steel kettle rests.

“The man isn’t meant to be back from his trip to Germany for another two weeks, Morgana.”

Morgana rolls her eyes to the heavens and takes a sip of the tea that she appears to have helped herself to from Arthur’s pantry.  Arthur idly hopes that the kettle is still hot. He could use a good cuppa before getting ready for work himself. He doesn’t normally sleep in, but, Merlin…

“So, since you didn’t answer me the first time: Merlin came over last night, didn’t he?” Morgana needles.

That’s when Arthur remembers that he really needs a shower.

“Yes, Merlin came over last night.”

“And?” Morgana says with a suggestive eyebrow raised.

Arthur scowls. “And, we shagged like it was our last day on earth, whilst talking about chocolate. Satisfied?”

“I’m sure Merlin was _quite,”_ Morgana teases, and sips daintily at her tea. Arthur doesn’t have time for this.

“Unpack whatever you have to, your room’s the second to last on your left,” he points lazily down the hall. “I’m going to take a shower now.”

Then he turns on his heel to head back to his room. He’s glad he’s got his own bathroom— would rather be around the smell of chocolate all day, every day, and risk getting eternally horny at the thought of Merlin and his damned candy store, than have to share a bathroom with Morgana.

“So have you told him yet?”

Arthur pauses reluctantly mid-walk to respond, playing dumb. “Have I told who, what?” he asks.

Morgana sets down her tea with an imperious raise of her eyebrow. Her red lips have a matte sheen, and the corners tilt slightly downward in disapproval. “So you haven’t told him.”

With a sigh, Arthur forces himself to turn fully around and cross the kitchen to sit at a stool opposite his half-sister. Morgana is a pain in the arse, but sometimes, she’s got good ideas.

In regards to this idea, though, Arthur isn’t sure how to approach Merlin about it. Deals with Morgana have always been highly suspect in his book. But maybe this time will be different. Lucky for Merlin, Morgana has taken a liking to him; that has to count for something.

“What’s the catch?” Arthur asks, taking up his no-nonsense voice to make clear he’s too tired to beat around the bush. Morgana gives a shrug and cradles her tea.

“It’s nothing big. I'm thinking I get Merlin his own private photo shoot down at the shop, sell some adverts online like I do for the other shop I work for, maybe have some fliers made, and he and his uncle agree to sell candy dishes from my company.”

“It can’t be that simple,” Arthur deadpans, but Morgana, to her credit, looks very serious.

“Oh, it’s that simple,” she says. But something about the look in her eye tips Arthur off that there’s something more.

“And?”

Pushing a strand of hair away from her face, Morgana replies with a casual shrug, “And, I think it's only right that I insist on being your maid of honor at the wedding.”

Arthur splutters. “ _Wedding!”_ he chokes. “We’ve been dating for three months, Morgana!”

“Mmm, but it’s bound to happen sooner or later. You two were _made_ for each other.” As if to make a point, she looks Arthur up and down, purposely eyeing his bedhead. “I’ll go unpack my things.”

And just like that, Morgana disappears down the hall in a whirlwind of chiffon and designer suitcases, chunky heels clicking on the hardwood. Arthur glares after her.

“Oh, do calm down, Arthur. I can just _feel_ the daggers in my back.”

Arthur grumbles to himself and heads for the shower.

*****

“You want me to what?” Gaius, Merlin’s uncle, asks from behind his morning paper. He sits in his own chair in his study, and Merlin stands in front of his uncle’s desk, mobile out and ready.

“I think you should let me help you make a twitter page for the shop. You’ve been talking about how some extra attention would do us some good, right?” Merlin’s plucked up the courage to talk to his uncle about upping their game in advertising for Treat Yourself. His uncle seems taken with the idea.

What he does _not_ seem taken with is twitter. The man hardly knows what Google is, it’s a wonder he’s gotten this far in business already. Merlin taps at his mobile and gives his uncle a pleading look.

“You _have_ to let me show you how to use twitter, please, I think it’ll help the shop enormously. Don’t you?” He gives his uncle the most convincing puppy dog eyes he can muster. Gaius doesn’t even blink, looking calmly up from his paper.

“Wherever did this idea strike you, Merlin?” the man asks, calmly removing his reading glasses. The study smells of stale tobacco and lemon tea. There’s dust on almost every surface except for Gaius’s desk, and one of the plush chairs pushed to one wall has some sort of dark stain on it. Merlin assumes it’s either coffee or hot cocoa; Gaius has always been fond of hot cocoa.

“Arthur,” Merlin says.

“Ah, yes, the boy you’ve been seeing.”

“He’s not a _boy_ , he’s twenty-five and a year older than I am. And I think his ideas could really come in handy.”

Gaius chuckles. “And what exactly does he know about the candy business?” he asks. Merlin snorts.

“Oh, plenty.”

“Really.” Gaius gives him a dubious look. Merlin, out of respect for his uncle, does not roll his eyes at just how oblivious poor Gaius can be sometimes.

“Because he’s Arthur _Pendragon._ Candy _is_ his business.”

A beat of silence, where Gaius carefully folds his newspaper and sets it down next to his cold mug of tea. Then he sighs, like a grandfather (or uncle) would sigh when they’re about to tell their beloved nephew something of the utmost importance.

“Merlin… I’m not sure that continuing to see Arthur is a good idea.”

Merlin nearly chokes on air. “What! Uncle Gaius, you _can’t_ be serious--”

“Oh, I am, and I’m sure that the second Arthur’s father found out, he would be absolutely serious on the matter as well.”

Merlin gapes. “Wait, you know his father?”

Gaius nods solemnly.

“So, what, is he against… Arthur being with another man, then?” Fury boils up in Merlin’s chest. He refuses to let the likes of Uther bloody Pendragon get under his skin, not when he’s been so, incredibly happy these past three months.

With a shake of his head, Gaius answers, “No, Uther has known about that for some time. But, you see, I used to work for Camelot Confectionary. Vice President, actually.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shoot up. “Why’d you never tell me this?” he asks.

“You must understand, Merlin, things between me and Uther are not exactly friendly these days.”

“So what, you’re saying this is like.... like some stereotypical Romeo and Juliet case, and Arthur and I can’t be together because we work for two different companies?" He scoffs at the ridiculousness. "Uncle Gaius, we buy candy in bulk _from_ their confectionary.”

“No, Merlin, this is not because of that.” Gaius waves a dismissive hand in the air. He looks tired. “Well, not entirely. But from what I know about Uther Pendragon, I fear he may feel I’m using you to get to Arthur – and, more importantly, his company.”

It hits Merlin then, what his uncle suspects _Uther_ might begin to suspect.

“You think that his old Vice President might be after Camelot Confectionary? _Really?_ ” Merlin snorts. It’s the most amusing conspiracy theory he’s heard to date; Gaius, plotting to take over Camelot? Now, that’s funny.

But the look on his uncle’s face is wary. Merlin’s laugh dies down when Gaius lifts a cautioning finger towards his nephew. “Just be careful, Merlin. I don’t know how long you two can keep something like this a secret. Arthur is a big name in the candy industry, nearly as much as his father is. The second word gets out, theories and speculations will be flying everywhere. You had better be ready. If it was up to me, I would say you leave Arthur now and--”

But Merlin is already walking out of the study, slamming the door behind him.

Gaius shakes his head to himself and picks his newspaper back up. He’s not sure why he should be so surprised. The second he heard Merlin so much as mention Arthur, he knew his nephew was done for.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to give a big thank you to everyone who left all the wonderful comments for this fic, I can't believe it's been viewed this much in the past week alone! You guys keep me going, I'm really glad for the encouragement or this probably would've remained a one-shot for the rest of eternity. Thanks again!

Morgana barges into Arthur's flat without so much as a warning, carrying her huge Prada handbag over one shoulder.

"Uther's home!" she snarls, tossing the handbag down on the countertop of the kitchen island. Arthur had only _just_ put the kettle on, it's much too early for this.

"Has it been two weeks already?" he asks through a yawn that he doesn't even bother trying to cover up.

"No, he's home early. And he's already been asking about you. I would go home right now if I were you." Morgana's voice is low and dangerous, a warning.

Arthur snorts. "Give me an hour to mentally prepare myself."

"I could give you a year, and I doubt even that would be enough time to prepare yourself for the terror that is Uther," his half-sister grumbles, muttering something venomous under her breath about 'business propositions' and stares longingly at the kettle of water heating on the stove. "He wants to talk to you as soon as possible," With that, Morgana parks herself on the nearest stool. Arthur frowns thoughtfully.

"And what about you?"

"I'm staying right here." For good measure, the tirading woman crosses her arms and legs tightly, jaw set. She isn't moving. Not unless it's of her own free will.

"Great," Arthur mutters, throwing his hands up to the heavens. What had he ever done to deserve this?

He works hard, doesn't speak out of turn around his father, allows his sister a place to crash on the weekends -- for a whole _month_ , no less -- he isn't a cheater or a liar, he does his best to make sure he has enough time - well, more than enough time, really -- for Merlin. What had he done to deserve this?

"What exactly does father want to talk to me about?"

The look on Morgana's face turns sly, and it's making Arthur very uncomfortable. Then she situates herself properly on the stool, crossing her legs at the ankles like a student fresh out of charm school, and tells her brother exactly what Uther told her.

 

*****

 

"Your father wants to have me over... for dinner."

"Yes, Merlin, we've been over this."

"You mean, Uther Pendragon wants to have _me_ over for dinner."

"That was the general phrasing, yes," says Arthur, leaning an arm on the front counter of the candy shop. It's six p.m. and Merlin knows he's probably not going to get many more customers on a Wednesday evening.

"Are you sure it wasn't just 'have me for dinner?'" Merlin asks cheekily. Arthur swats at Merlin's elbow.

"Let's not discuss cannibalism, we're in a candy store," Arthur drawls, tapping his fingers on the marbled counter. "A small, innocent child could run in at any moment and overhear us."

"Doesn't bother me," Merlin retorts, "'M not in the mood to ring up any more customers today, anyway."

Arthur rolls his eyes. "You are a shining example of hard work and dedication."

"You bet my arse I am," Merlin says with a snicker. Arthur glances over his boyfriend with possessive eyes, which never fails to make Merlin flush with color.

"Mmm, your arse is already mine," Arthur muses. "Bet something else."

Merlin's drops his jaw in a dramatic show of feigned surprise. " _Ar_ thur!"

" _Mer_ lin," Arthur mocks.

Now it's Merlin's turn to roll his eyes. "Very mature. And my arse does not belong to you, I decide when or even _if_ you get to have it, you cheeky bastard." He taps a button on the register to print the final receipt he needs in order to close out.

"Oh... really?" Arthur murmurs, leaning over the counter to enter Merlin's personal space. His smile is sincere and heated, not shy in the least. Merlin suppresses the instinctual urge to back up. Instead, he leans in even closer, until their noses are nearly touching.

"Yeah, really. This may come as a shock to you, but you do actually have to work for this arse." Merlin's voice starts to lower, quiet enough that no one would overhear them if a customer wandered in at that very moment. "Don't forget who buys you your ridiculous bags of jellybeans every week."

Arthur scoffs. "Merlin, you do know I work for my own little candy store, don't you?"

Merlin nearly laughs aloud upon hearing Camelot Confectionary being referred to as a "little candy store."

"And yet, you still ask me for a great bag of lemon jellybeans every Friday."

"I share them!"

"Two jellybeans does not qualify as sharing, Arthur."

"I don't like sharing," Arthur says, shrugging. Something about the way he looks Merlin up and down with those words gives Merlin the impression that he isn't talking about the jellybeans. After a beat, the lustful glint in his eye fades. Merlin frowns, wondering why.

What Arthur says next explains the lackluster expression clouding his face. "My father was hoping to ask you about your shop. He likes interacting with the people who help him sell his product."

"So he knows I work in a candy shop that sells his product."

"He's very good at making assumptions."

"Like how he knew you were dating me before he even got back to the country," Merlin points out grimly. “Remind me, where was he again?”

“Either Germany or Morocco. Not important, though.” Arthur’s lips press into a tight line. He doesn’t look pleased with his father’s deduction skills, either. "I don't know how he found out, but he did. My guess is Morgana had something to do with it.”

“She really doesn’t want to work for him, does she?”

“Well, I wouldn't put it past her to throw him a bone in the hopes that he gets distracted from trying to recruit her for his business."

Merlin raises an eyebrow at that, but Arthur waves it off, implying he'd rather talk about that some other time. "Speaking of, did you consider her offer?"

Merlin glares at the register, grinding his teeth. "You mean, the one where I smile and give a thumbs up to the camera for our new adverts, and in return agree to sell her candy dishes? I thought about it."

"...And?" Arthur presses, not wanting to scare Merlin out of answering the question.

Merlin sighs. He shuts the register and pulls open a drawer, tugging out a piece of paper with spaces to be filled out for the day's earnings. Clicking a pen, he turns and says, "Uncle Gaius sounded pleased with the idea, although the twitter thing is still up in the air."

"No surprise there."

Crossing an X into the space marked "voids," Merlin dedicates half of his focus to filling out the closing form. He mutters something indistinguishable under his breath about gift certificates or credit balances or something, glaring daggers at the Z tape, and circles a number on the receipt. Business hadn't been great today. He hates to admit it, but Morgana's offer was a gift that they could not afford to turn down.

"I think I should do it. As long as I can talk to her in person beforehand."

Arthur smirks. "Well," he says, "lucky for you, that shouldn't be an issue, as she'll be at dinner tomorrow night as well."

Merlin clicks his pen again and frowns. His brow knits. "You're kidding."

"What?" asks Arthur.

Then Merlin groans, and finally chucks the pen back onto the counter, the form forgotten for the minute. "I don't believe it. This is going to be one of those dinners where all we talk about is business and everything is just stilted small talk in between. Thanks, but no thanks."

"No!" Arthur quickly racks his brain for a way to rid Merlin of the thought. It's obvious already how anxious Merlin is about this dinner. Anyone would be terrified. Hell, Arthur's impressed that his blessing of a boyfriend hasn't already been reduced to a puddle on the floor because of the stress. "No, Merlin, my father really does want to meet you, and not just because you work to sell his candy. And I _know_ Morgana would like to get to know you better, too. She loves you already, you know."

Merlin forces himself to smile. "Good to know I'm in the good graces of at least two out of three Pendragons already."

Arthur snorts. With a sigh of relief, he leans back over the counter and presses a light kiss to Merlin's forehead, just below the fringe of dark, messy hair. Merlin shuts his eyes and allows it, smiling.

When Arthur leans back, he's happy to find Merlin looking at least marginally more relaxed. The bruises of purple under Merlin's eyes haven't disappeared much, and Arthur wonders if he's been sleeping all right lately. He looks thinner, too, but maybe that's just because Merlin has always been thin to begin with. "I'm glad. So you'll go?"

"Hmm, I just don't think I have anything to wear," Merlin says with a thoughtful tap of his finger to his chin, still trying halfheartedly to weasel his way out of it. But Arthur won't hear it.

"I'll pick you up at eight sharp tomorrow," he promises.

"See you then, you jelly-addicted prat."

Arthur laughs. Before he leaves the shop to return to his own office awaiting him half an hour away, he adds, "Oh, and just a little caveat; make sure you don't refer Morgana as a Pendragon in front of her if you value your life."

With a grin, Merlin holds up his hands and nods hastily. "Got it."

 

*****

  
Merlin has no idea what to do or what to wear or how he should act in front of someone like Uther goddamn Pendragon, but at least he has the sense to go for his nicer pair of slacks instead of neat jeans. A button down should be fine, although most of the nicer ones he owns are in sore need of a good run under the iron. He hasn't ironed his clothes since.... Well, since he bought the iron, probably.

He quickly calls up Gwen, an old uni friend who keeps in touch when she's not uber-busy running her own, small tech manufacturing company. She picks up on the third ring.

"Hello?" says a tired-sounding female voice over Merlin's crummy phone speaker.

"Hey Gwen, it's Merlin."

"Merlin! So good to hear from you, how are you? I haven't talked to you in a month!"

Merlin tries to laugh, but it comes out sounding a bit strangled. "Right, ehm, so listen, I'm freaking out, Gwen."

"Ah... boyfriend troubles?"

"No, no -- not exactly -- okay, wait, I forget how to iron. How do I use an iron, Gwen?" Merlin pleads into the phone, shooing Aithusa away from his secondhand bedside table where he'd tossed his top choice for a shirt. He hears Gwen snort into the receiver.

"Oh Merlin," she coos, clearly more amused than concerned, "you really are hopeless sometimes. It's called google. Why are you really calling?"

"Right, right," Merlin takes a deep, steadying breath. "Sorry. It's the nerves."

"It's all right. Why are you so nervous?" Gwen asks patiently. She's an honest to god angel, Gwen is. Her patience knows no bounds.

Merlin heaves a sigh, picking up the shirt and shaking it out with a grimace, hoping there won't be too much cat hair for him to have to clean off with a lint roller later. "Oh, y'know, just going to dinner to meet the parents… Parent, actually. I'm meeting Arthur's father."

"You mean Uther Pendragon," Gwen elaborates.

Merlin had filled Gwen in on the details a month ago. Apparently, Gwen also knew the man, but only indirectly. She'd interned at Camelot Confectionary right out of university and left in a hurry just two weeks in, complaining (something that Gwen never did, ever) that she was practically treated like maid service, running about with everyone's coffees and constantly clearing up useless paperwork. Merlin had been pleased when she finally got out of it. Now she was her own boss, running a private business that manufactured high-quality computers, which were rumoured to be so well-secured and bug-free, even the S.I.S. wanted them.

"Yes, Uther Pendragon. A.k.a. the man my Uncle used to work for as bloody _Vice President_. Do you see my dilemma, Gwen?"

For a moment, all Merlin hears is the rustling of papers over the speaker. Then a sigh from Gwen, and he hears her say, "You think that _Uther_ will think you're after the company because you're dating his son, and you work for his former VP, so he’ll suspect your uncle is the mastermind behind the plan. Yes, Merlin, I get what you're thinking. But I wouldn't worry about it,” she assures, “I hear Uther Pendragon is a little hard and stony, but I'm sure he's not worried that the manager of a small corner shop in London is going to usurp the throne of Camelot Confectionary."

"It's possible," Merlin grumbles.

Gwen hums. "Maybe, but try not to stress. You'll be fine. And besides, if everything you've told me is true, Arthur would never let something like business get in the way of your relationship. He loves you too much to let that happen."

"...You're amazing, Gwen."

"Mhmm," Gwen replies, before continuing, "And try not to wear anything with _denim_ to a Pendragon dinner, so help you god.” Merlin can practically _hear_ the finger-pointing. “If I know Pendragons, they're as classy as they come. I would figure out your ironing situation if I were you."

Merlin grins into the phone. "Thanks Gwen, you're the best."

A laugh rings over the receiver. "No worries. I've got a meeting in five, but don't be afraid to e-mail every once in a while!" She sounds like a mother hen, honestly, but Merlin loves her for it.

"I will. Talk to you later?"

"Make sure you do. Good luck with dinner!" Gwen says, still laughing, and hangs up.

Some of the weight eases off Merlin's shoulders. Tossing his mobile onto his pillow, he slings the button-down over his arm and gets down on hands and knees to peek under his bed.

That iron has _got_ to be somewhere.


	6. Chapter 6

Gaius worked for Uther beginning when Merlin was four, and had a steady job at Camelot Confectionary as VP before he left to open his own candy store, just as his nephew neared age eight.

He hadn't been sacked, not at all. Gaius just felt like he needed to slow down, take more time to care for his little sister and nephew when they were already struggling with finances and doctor’s appointments for Hunith. Insulin was free and so were checkups for her type 2, but transportation to and from the doctor's and hospital wasn't always easy. Their car always had  _something_ wrong with it, and getting it fixed up is not cheap at all. They've been considering getting a new car, and in the meantime, paying busfare or cab fare is getting annoying. Paying for groceries and bills on the apartment and bills on _Gaius's_ apartment (which Merlin insists he help with) picks away at their pockets, and the Emrys family is always behind on paying everything on time.

The little shop ended up being the best solution for everyone.

Merlin remembers being five years old and asking his mum why she always pricked the little lancet-thingy in her finger before meals, squeezing the little drop of blood onto the test strip. He’d thought that maybe it would hurt, but Hunith couldn’t have looked more unaffected; it was just another routine, Merlin learned soon enough.

“It just measures my blood sugar levels, love. I can eat whatever I want, as long as I tell the pump how many carbs are in the food, and it does the rest for keeping my insulin balanced while I eat. Just helps me stay healthy. See?” She’d folded back a bit of her shirt to show him the pump on her hip. He’d seen it before, but never really knew what it was for. All he knew was, the thing was so expensive that his uncle Gaius had had to help pay for most of the cost.

“Oh. How do you know what’s in your food?”

“When I was younger, the doctors gave me a chart to help me keep track of the carbohydrates in different foods. After a while you can get a better eye for how much something will be. Sometimes I can eyeball it.”

Curious, Merlin asked, “What do you mean, eyeball it?”

Hunith chuckled and glanced at her monitor, jotting something down on the pad of paper in front of her before leaning over to face Merlin. Merlin couldn’t have been much taller than the kitchen table at the time. “Well, for example, if I dish out a bit of rice onto my plate, like this,” she reached for the bowl of rice in the middle of the table and spooned some onto her plate, “I can tell that this here,” she pointed to the little mountain of sticky grains, “would be around forty-five grams.”

“Oh…” Merlin still didn’t really get it after that, not until he grew to be a bit older.

Then, when he reached his mid-teens, he took it upon himself to learn all he could to make sure his mum stayed healthy. Not that she needed the help, but she’d thought it was a thoughtful gesture all the same.

As for the shop, Merlin had been working at Treat Yourself ever since he could do simple arithmetic. He'd had the job from the time he was ten years old, and after saving up for years, he was finally able to afford a flat of his own, moving out to go to uni and leaving his mother with more space in the house and a little more money for herself. It was all for the best.

Hunith had always been an optimistic, busy woman, and from the time Merlin had been four or five, she’d left him in the care of Gaius while Hunith went off to work, managing a café just a few blocks down. So Merlin had been trolling around the candy store since… well, for as long as he could remember. He was thankful for it-- as he probably never would have met Arthur, had his employment been any different.

 

******

 

Gwen hadn't been wrong; Dinner affairs at the Pendragon household are nothing to sniff at.

Uther Pendragon himself answers the door, dressed in a semi-formal dinner ensemble, complete with grey slacks, a shiny pair of shoes that Merlin assumes probably cost more than what he makes in a year, and a silk dress shirt the colour of a brick. A very classy shade of brick. His tie is a deeper shade, maroon, adding a hint of contrast. Forget dressing to the nines.

Uther Pendragon dresses to the tens.

Arthur nudges Merlin to follow as the two of them are ushered inside, graciously welcomed by an older woman who must be one of the housekeepers, and shown through a lavish sitting room, heading down a corridor lined with old paintings until they make it to a small dining room. Morgana is already there, standing by her own chair as she waits for the rest of them to join.

Morgana looks radiant as usual. Tonight sees her in a cream cocktail dress, winged eyeliner so perfect Merlin wonders if she might be an actual goddess, and red stilettos sharp enough to kill a man.

After a brief and polite word of welcome from Uther, all have a seat at the dining room table.

The room that they appear to be dining in is much smaller than Merlin had anticipated. He remarks on this to Arthur, but Arthur only shakes his head, saying, “It's one of the three that we have in the house. This one is for more intimate settings. You should see the ballroom.”

“You never told me you had a bloody _ball_ room,” Merlin whispers, keeping his voice hushed so that he isn’t overheard by Uther himself. He doesn’t say anything more while they all take their seats. Candles flicker in the middle of the rectangular table, and the tablecloth is nearly the same colour as Uther’s silk tie.

The small talk is initiated by Morgana, naturally, and for a few minutes it’s a steady stream between the four of them, ranging from Arthur’s regaling of the latest footie match on television, to discussing Merlin’s early childhood in a small village, where he and his mother lived before moving to London. He doesn’t talk about his father, who left them when Merlin was only an infant, and no one asks.

The first course is served almost immediately, a thin soup with vegetables and a subtle aroma that makes Merlin’s mouth water. He only manages to take in a single spoonful before the real conversation begins.  
  
"So, Merlin,” Uther starts, looking up with polite interest, before blowing on a spoonful of soup to cool it.

"Sir?" Nervously, Merlin sets aside his spoon. His stomach churns in anticipation.

"Tell me about your work.” _And there it is_. “I hear you're also in the confectionary business." The man’s eyes have turned bright at the switch in topic. He couldn't be more obvious, really.

Morgana rolls her eyes, but as her seat is next to Uther instead of dead across like Arthur's, Uther doesn't catch his step-daughter's impertinent reaction.

Merlin gives an enthusiastic nod, before remembering what Gaius told him about his uncle’s former employment. He'll just have to avoid that part of the subject at all costs...

"Yes, sir. I work at a small place - really more of a hole in the wall, I guess, but it's in a nice area and the people are pretty decent and... erm," he's rambling. He knows it. Merlin pauses briefly to glance over at Arthur, who gives a nod so slight it's hardly noticeable if one isn't looking for it. But it drives Merlin on. "Right, um, I've been working there for the majority of my life. It's a place called Treat Yourself."  
  
"I can't say I've heard of it," says Uther, canting his head to the side. Merlin can see he's meant to be elaborating.  
  
"Right, well... Yeah -- Yes, it's not very well-known. But I like it."  
  
"It's a charming little place just down on Molton, you'll have to go some time," Morgana chimes in, cheerful as she plucks up her glass of sangria and takes a dainty sip. Merlin can feel Arthur scowling next to him. He doesn't even have to look, he just _knows_. If looks could kill…

Well, Morgana would find a way to survive, anyway. She was like that. “I’ve offered to help advertise for him,” she says with a knowing smile. Merlin had almost forgotten about that agreement, too wrapped up in the dinner itself to think of anything other than his nerves. He’d downed maybe two glasses of water before Arthur had come to pick him up, he’d been so anxious.

“Have you, now?” Uther asks, sounding a little stilted as he mulls over Morgana’s revelation. It obviously hasn’t been quite so easy for him to get any sort of business deal with a woman who belongs to his very own family. But he wisely chooses not to add insult to injury, and centers his focus back to Merlin.

Merlin, who suddenly realizes he really needs to use the loo.

With an apology lingering in the air, he excuses himself as graciously as possible, for fear of not wanting to appearing rude, shakes his head minutely at Arthur’s concerned look, and walks hurriedly down the corridor in the hopes that he’s headed towards the nearest toilet.

Luckily, he runs into the housekeeper lady again, who kindly points him in the right direction.

He barely hazards a glance in the mirror on his way out, but the bags under his eyes definitely look more pronounced than usual, he could swear. He looks pale, too. He swipes his hands down the sides of his trousers, trying to ease some of the clamminess. It’s the nerves.

 

******

 

Mission completed, he just about rushes back to the dining room, hoping he hasn’t been too long. Arthur turns back to look at him, nearly finished with his soup, and Uther and Morgana break off a muted conversation to greet Merlin as he takes his seat again.

“Found your way back all right, I take it?” asks Uther. The tight smile on Morgana’s face tells Merlin that the man is trying his hand at being funny, so Merlin forces a laugh. “Getting back to the subject of work, if it’s all the same,” Uther says, striking up the conversation where they had left off like there had been no interruption, “who is employer? At the candy shop, I mean. Perhaps I know them.”

“Oh, um,” Merlin swallows, and stammers, “Um, my uncle. Gaius.” Nervous, he reaches for his water instead of his wine. God, his mouth is so _dry_ all of a sudden.

“Gaius? That’s not exactly a common name,” Uther muses, “I happen to know someone with the same one. What is his surname?”

Merlin feels a squeeze on his knee, firm and grounding. He turns his head just a fraction of an inch to both acknowledge Arthur and somehow deliver the message, ‘You’re amazing, please don’t stop touching me I think I’ll die if you do and your father is terrifying.’

Arthur seems to get the message, because his hand doesn’t move an inch.

Arthur’s known the story of Merlin’s uncle for some time now, and while he doesn’t see quite as much issue with it, he realizes how badly Merlin wants this dinner to go well.

Steeling himself for the worst, Merlin says, “Ah, um, surname?”

“Is he the brother of your mother or your father?”

“Ehm, my mother.”

“Which would make his surname the same as yours, I presume?” Uther drawls, “Unless your mother has stopped using her maiden name, I take it.” So Arthur had told his father _quite_ a bit about Merlin’s family already.

“Y-yes, sir.”

“I see,” Uther Pendragon nods solemnly, steepling his fingers on the table. “Gaius Emrys. Interesting, as my old Vice President of Camelot Confectionary had the same name exactly.”

There’s a pause, in which everyone but Uther shifts rather uncomfortably in their seats, and then Merlin gives another nervous laugh. “Well, I’m guessing they _are_ one and the same,” he says, wary. “I think he, erm, mentioned something about working for a celebrated brand in the industry, but that was back when I was a little kid.” His mouth has gone dry again, and he quickly reaches back for his water, finishing off the contents in record time. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

Uther looks thoughtful, humming quietly for a moment as a look of deeper interest crosses his face, his brow creasing and making him look even older than he is. “So it seems my old right-hand man has been continuing in the candy business, has he?”

It’s with even greater apprehension that Merlin swallows again. “Yes sir. Looks that way.”

Another pause as Uther lets one hand fall to his lap, fingering the neck of his own wine glass pensively— before his face breaks out into a merry grin. He’s laughing.

“And he’s been continuing to help sell my product, even after fifteen years,” he chuckles. Uther stops toying with the wine glass and turns to give Merlin his full attention, shaking his head in wonderment. _He’s not angry_. “Good man. I knew I could trust him not to move on to another big-name.”

More than a little baffled by the underwhelming reaction, Merlin nervously tries to laugh along. He looks around the table, to where Morgana looks something akin to pleased; then to Arthur, whose smile is warm and genuine, the hand on Merlin’s knee not moving for even a second.

It looks like that conversation went far better than he could have hoped. Uther doesn’t seem to think there’s anything dodgy about Merlin and Arthur’s relationship, not in the least.

And just like that, the tension lifts.

******

 

Merlin happily digs into the second course – a simple pasta dish with a creamy sauce, and it's freaking amazing. He could definitely get used to meals like this-- although the small talk is something he could live without.

With the knowledge that Merlin’s become somewhat accustomed to the rather posh environment of the Pendragon household, Arthur is content to switch his focus to his own plate.

Most of the second course passes by without incident. Merlin and Arthur continue to play tag-team for ‘whose turn is it to talk to Uther,” and every now and then Arthur will reach underneath the table to give his boyfriend’s knee a reassuring squeeze.

By the third course – _courses_ , really, could they be any classier? – Merlin is whispering animatedly to Arthur about his work day, with Arthur nodding thoughtfully and laughing every ten seconds, and Morgana cracks a grin over her forkful of rotelli when she catches them at it.

That’s just before Uther reels his step-daughter in for a quiet conversation that most likely will not end with sunshine and rainbows. Arthur suspects another month will be tacked onto her stay in his city flat.

More wine is served, although Merlin also quietly requests a refill on his water, and Uther suggests a toast.

“To business,” he says, with a smug glint in his eye.

Morgana, sitting next to him with her own glass raised stiffly, wears an expression much more sour than before, her grin as stiff as her grip on the wine glass.

Dessert comes next.

Arthur accepts his own ceramic cup of strawberry mousse and side-eyes Merlin. Arthur had been the one to request the dessert, knowing full well how much Merlin would like it.

But when Merlin picks up his spoon, the portion of mousse he scoops out of the ceramic is rather pitiful. Arthur frowns.

That’s not like him. It’s not like Merlin to be anything other than one hundred percent enthusiastic about dessert. When he gives Merlin a questioning look after meeting his eyes, Merlin plasters on a winning smile, and shrugs.

 

******

 

After just one glass of wine, Merlin had already begun to feel tired. A little sick, even. He’d noticed that Uther was engaging Morgana in a conversation that could only turn into a business dispute, centering on her work and the deal between her glassware company and the little candy shop.

After the toast, Merlin could safely infer just how well the conversation went.

Morgana does not look pleased.

Calmly, Merlin leans to his left and murmurs in Arthur’s ear, “Hey, I’m thinking maybe we should go soon?”

Arthur looks taken aback. “Why? Are you all right?” he asks. Then he leans in closer and whispers, “I’m sorry if whatever my father said earlier made you uncomfortable. Really, we can leave right after dessert, if you like. I promise.” He sighs then, “But eyebrows will definitely be raised if we leave before that. Morgana will definitely skin me alive if we do.”

“No… no it’s fine, your father seems really nice, actually.”

Arthur gives Merlin a closer look, inspecting his face, the way his hands are limp in his lap and not touching another bite of the mousse. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asks again.

“Yeah, ‘m fine, just tired.” As if to prove his point, Merlin goes to stifle a yawn a moment later and blinks twice, opening his eyes wide in the fear he might fall asleep right here at the table.

“Really? Because you’ve barely touched your dessert, and I know how much you love your sweets.”

“I’m _fine_ , Arthur really,” Merlin insists, lowering his voice even more. “Like I said, I’m just a little tired. I’ll stick it out until dessert’s finished.” Then he waves it off, and makes an effort to look interested in his mousse, stabbing his spoon into the fluffy pink stuff with a vigor that doesn’t match his mood.

It’s only with reluctance that Arthur eats the rest of his own dessert in silence, while Uther and Morgana bicker quietly about God knows what on the other side of the table.

After another ten minutes of seeing Merlin give a half-arsed attempt at looking like he’s enjoying his food, Arthur puts his spoon down, sighing. “Well,” he says, interrupting the silent quarrel between his father and half-sister. Merlin looks around, too. “I hope you don’t mind, father, but I’m feeling a bit tuckered out. I think I’ll be turning in for the night.”

“Surely you’d allow Merlin a few more minutes to finish his dessert,” Morgana argues lightly, casting a hopeful glance in Merlin’s direction. She probably doesn’t feel like being left alone with her father. Merlin can sympathize.

But he’s really, really not feeling his best.

Quirking an apologetic smile in Morgana’s and Uther’s direction, Merlin says, “No, it’s fine, really. I think I just had a long day at work, it might be best for me to get to bed early tonight, too.” He nods at Uther and adds, “Thank you so much for the dinner, it was wonderful. The soup was amazing.”

Uther smiles and nods understandingly and stands to lead Merlin out, every bit the perfect host, with Arthur following closely at Merlin’s side every step of the way.

Uther takes the lead and shows them down the various corridors, through the sitting room again. They make it to the front door without incident and without too many awkward conversation fillers.

It’s only when they’ve reached the front door (after a courteous handshake between Mr. Pendragon and Merlin) that Merlin starts to really feel _not right._

Uther bids Merlin a good night, gives a final nod, and leaves Arthur and Merlin to it.

“So…” Merlin says, before thinking about the drive back to his flat and realizing, shite, he’s got to hit the loo again. He’s not even sure he can make it the twenty minutes home.

“Sorry, weird timing, but erm, just need to use the loo one last time if that’s all right,” Merlin mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. Arthur nods.

“Sure, closest one’s up the stairs, first door on your left.” He points towards the staircase. “I’ll be here.”

“Thanks.” Merlin follows the directions and hurriedly finds the little powder room on the second floor, shutting the door behind him without locking it. He really isn’t feeling amazing right now.

His stomach hurts in a sharp, stabbing way – he thinks maybe he’s got indigestion, but he doesn’t remember eating all that much or all that quickly – and the first wave of nausea sends him staggering towards the toilet, where he promptly vomits half of his dinner into the immaculate (or used to be) porcelain bowl.

Something’s not right. The pain is so bad. Something is _not right_. He grips his stomach, breathing heavily, but then brings his hand away, when he discovers that touching his abdomen in that spot hurts like hell.

Oh, crap. He recognizes the symptoms; they were the first things he learned about when doing all that research as a teenager, god dammit. But he’d done it in case of an emergency, for his _mum,_ not for him. Now this is just super inconvenient.

The only thing that confuses him is just how quickly the symptoms hit. And he hadn't expected his stomach to be hurting  _quite_ this much.

The last things he thinks before the room goes fuzzy are, _Fuck, we can’t afford this,_ followed by, _Damn it, where’d I put my mobile? And fuck, Arthur’s still waiting downstairs…_


	7. Chapter 7

 

Merlin opens his eyes slowly.

 

Everything is white.

He looks up: the ceiling is plain white, and so are the walls, save for the singular painting of a blue sailboat on a green ocean hanging to his left, boring and a bit depressing. He shifts his body slightly and realizes he’s in a bed. It's not the most comfortable mattress in the world, but the sheets feel nice and everything is clean.

Someone walks into the room, knocking lightly against the doorframe with his knuckles. Merlin looks up. A younger man, probably not much older than Merlin, actually, wearing scrubs and carrying a clipboard.

“Merlin!” the man says, grinning warmly. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

“Um…” Merlin’s brow pinches, confused. Why does this person know his name?

Ah, right. Scrubs. Doctor. Hospital.

“Bit lousy,” Merlin croaks, and he realizes his throat feels dry. He’d really just like a glass of water and a nap right now. And maybe some paracetamol. “What happened?” he asks.

“Pancreatitis. You’re lucky your friend found you when he did,” the doctor says, holding his clipboard loosely at his side. “Your heart, lungs and kidneys are all functioning properly but I’m afraid we’ll have to keep you here for further examination, and of course a few days of bed rest. Your pancreas is inflamed and needs time to heal.”

“Days?” Merlin croaks, but the doctor doesn’t hear him. Trying to wake himself up and force a little bit of awareness into himself, Merlin wiggles his fingers and toes. Yep, everything’s in order there.  

“Now that you’re awake that should make things a little easier. Are you feeling any pain?”

Yes. His stomach hurts like a bitch and his lower back is feeling it, too. But it’s ten times better than what he was feeling, back in the powder room after dinner. Even so, he gives a hesitant nod. He hears a bottle of pills being jostled and picked up, and sees a little plastic, orange container being placed on the bedside table. Then Merlin registers the actual diagnosis.

Pancreatitis?

“Wait… I’m not diabetic?” he asks weakly, trying to sit up. A hand pushes him back down gently. When Merlin looks up, the doctor is shaking his head, sending a few stray locks of chocolate-brown hair every which way. Merlin thinks offhandedly that the man, tan and kind-eyed with just the perfect amount of stubble lining his jaw, is incredibly attractive. Then he snaps himself back out of it when he thinks of Arthur.

“But it very well could have been, the symptoms tend to be similar,” says the doctor. His name tag, as Merlin squints to see clearly, reads ‘Dr. DuLac,’ and scribbled in with pen underneath is the word ‘Lance’ in parentheses. “We did a standard check through your family’s medical history. I see it runs in the family, but no, you’re not diabetic.”

Of course, because Merlin’s always been the lucky sort. The doctor commences to give him the run-down on his situation, what sorts of things Merlin will need to be watching out for, and mentions “unhealthy eating habits” once, at which point Merlin rolls his eyes. A high metabolism and too much time in a candy store, maybe, but he’s… healthy. Healthy-ish, anyway.

And besides, this can all be chalked up to genetics. Can’t it? It’s a pancreatic illness, it must have _something_ to do with genetics.

And maybe the fact that he consumes more sweets than the average human on a daily basis. That might be a contributing factor.

“How did you find out who I was?” Merlin asks.

The sound of papers shuffling about, and then Dr. DuLac answers, “The man who brought you here gave us your name. He’s still in the waiting room, we’ll let him know you’re awake, if you’d like.”

Duh. Arthur would have found him… how long ago has it been now?

Merlin nods more enthusiastically and raises his arm to give a thumbs up. A dull pinch in his forearm reveals that there are a couple tubes stuck there intravenously.

Needles never really bothered him, but he’s never experienced anything like this before. It’s sort of fascinating, looking at the little clear tubes thin out and disappear into his veins. He asks why they’ve been put there.

“Just to replace necessary fluids before we let you go. You won’t be needing any surgery, thankfully,” Merlin breathes a sigh of relief, but the doctor continues, “however, you will have to put yourself on a strict health regime to prevent any complications. There have been cases of multiple pancreatic attacks even when the illness is acute, like yours. Your blood pressure was very low when you came in.” He glances down at the clipboard, then walks over to the heart monitor hooked up to Merlin as well. The screen beeps away at regular intervals, but Dr. DuLac doesn’t look as reassured as Merlin would have hoped.

“Looks like you’re still a bit low. No worries, you’re still healing. But you might not like the next bit.”

“What’s that?”

“No food for the next thirty-six hours.”

Merlin groans, letting his head fall back against the pillow. This might just be the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. No food for thirty-six hours? He’d rather be in a coma.

Dr. DuLac is an extremely kind and gentle soul, but Merlin is already bored by the time the doctor is five minutes into his explanation about pancreas inflammation. Merlin already knows how this works – well, sort of. Not really. He _would_ know how this would all work if it had been diabetes, but as it turns out, it isn’t. Lucky him. At least he won’t have to be approved for an expensive pump of his own, now.

What he _does_ need _,_ however, is a handful of pain meds and some water.

So the unquenchable thirst really had been nerves, after all—although _that_ had definitely been the reason for having to run to the loo so much. And the other stuff… nothing too strange, he supposes. The stomach pains were what did it. And he really couldn’t have known that the bags under his eyes were a sign of bloating, not fatigue (although he hadn’t been lying about needing more sleep, back at the Pendragon household. He really _hadn’t_ been sleeping well, lately).

Speaking of, he really wants to see Arthur.

"Your emergency contact was called- your mother is in the waiting area, as she wasn't technically allowed in until we were finished making sure you were stable. That didn't stop her from checking in every five minutes or so to see if you were awake, though." Naturally. Hunith wouldn’t let a few pesky doctors get in between her and her son.

"How long've I been here?" Merlin croaks, still feeling like shit.

"Less than twenty-four hours."

"Why was I unconscious?"

The response this time comes after a pause. "We thought at first that one of three vital organs had failed:" the doctor holds up a hand and counts on his fingers. "Kidney, lungs, or heart. But like I said, that ended up _not_ being the case," Merlin doesn't ignore the fact that he's lucky to be alive right now, as the doctor goes on, "we assume you passed out from the pain. It happens sometimes."

Oh, brilliant. Well now it’s just embarrassing. He wonders if Arthur knows.

“So my mother’s been filled in on everything then?”

Dr. DuLac- _Lance-_ nods, taking his focus away from whatever’s on the clipboard. “She’s been informed of the situation.”

Merlin breathes a sigh of relief. “And the man who brought me in?” he asks after another minute.

“Mr. Pendragon?” Dr. DuLac a.k.a. Lance asks, eyebrows high. “You can ask him yourself, he’s waiting right outside.” Merlin grins as the doctor leans out the doorway, his face hidden for a moment as he says something to someone – Arthur – just outside, before returning with a sunny smile. “I’ll leave you two alone.”

Merlin gives Arthur a weak wave and a smile when his boyfriend nearly pushes Dr. DuLac out of the room, having already waited long enough to see Merlin healthy and awake. Merlin feels a wee bit sorry for the doctor. But, like Arthur, he’s eager to see him again. Even if it’s from a hospital bed.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asks immediately, taking the seat by the bed like he’d done it a million times before. Something tells Merlin he has. Or close enough to a million, anyway.

“….Constipated.”

“Ah. Lucky you,” Arthur says, nodding seriously, before cracking a grin. Merlin’s only trying to lighten the mood, really, but it probably doesn’t look so good when he’s lying down in a hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown with IVs in his arms and a heart monitor hooked up to him.

For all Arthur knew, Merlin could have been dying. Ice pools in his gut when he thinks about how it must have felt for Arthur to come up after waiting God knows how long, only to find Merlin unconscious on the floor of the loo, having already lost half his dinner. Thank god he’d left the door unlocked.

Sobered by the thought, Merlin stops joking and pulls a tight smile. "Stomach hurts a bit, but 'm fine," he mutters. “Doctor said I just need to be in here a couple days to heal up.”

“I know, I already talked to him.”

“Of course you did.” Then he remembers the worst thing about it all. “They’re not going to let me _eat,_ Arthur!” Merlin moans, pouting. “Something about ‘giving my pancreas a rest.’ I’m calling bullshit.”

He hears Arthur snort from the seat next to him. “Relax, Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, and suddenly a gentle hand is brushing away the hair from Merlin’s brow. “It’s better that than giving your body a reason for this sort of thing to happen again. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to bring you to hospital a _second_ time _,_ you _idiot_.” There’s absolutely no heat in the words, and Merlin sighs, allowing Arthur to tease the curls of his hair away from his face.

“I could really go for some chips right now, though,” he whines quietly.

“Well,” says Arthur, “when you’re allowed solid foods again, I promise I’ll take you out to the best fish and chip shop, and we can gorge ourselves on the stuff. Sound all right?”

“Ace,” Merlin answers groggily, feeling tired. Now _where_ are those meds again? Merlin wriggles under the sheets a bit, trying to get comfortable.

 

Then his head snaps around again to look at Arthur, eyes wide. “Wait, what do you mean, ‘when I’m allowed solid foods again?!’”

 

*****

 

The rest of Merlin’s hospital stay mostly consists of Hunith fussing over him, making sure the bedclothes are just right as she coos and clicks her tongue when Merlin complains about the painkillers not kicking in as fast as he wants them to.

Arthur is there most of the first day of Merlin’s stay, but he reluctantly admits that if he doesn’t return to work the day after, his father will almost certainly have his skin. And probably turn it into a seat cover. Merlin shudders at the idea. Now that he’s met Uther Pendragon, he can’t really reconcile the hospitable, easygoing gentleman with Arthur’s description of the devil’s right-hand man.

 

But then, Morgana had seemed lovely to Merlin, too—up until the day during the month of her stay at Arthur’s when she’d walked in on her half-brother and Merlin… well.

It was safe to say that she would never have to worry about having enough blackmail material ever again. If she so much as breathed a word to anyone who worked for her, no one would doubt it for a minute. Rumours would catch and spread like wildfire. Or a contagious disease.

Merlin hadn’t expected to _regret_ his decision in regards to the chocolate sauce. But come on, everyone’s got a sweet tooth, right?

 

So, neither Arthur nor Merlin had been able to look Morgana in the eye for a good fortnight. For Arthur, probably longer.

And now Merlin won’t have to look at anyone at all, save his mum and his boyfriend, until the doctor’s order for house arrest and meals consisting only of soft foods is finally up.

Until then, Merlin entertains himself at home by Netflixing _Broadchurch_ and eating orange jelly with a fork. No chips, no fatty foods, no sugary drinks, no rigorous physical activity (In other words: No sex).

He doesn’t understand why his pancreas has to be such a goddamn cockblock.

Merlin supposes that _that_ whole thing would be way too painful in his current condition. More painful that it was worth; hell, he could barely walk from the sofa to the kitchen on his first day home, hunched over like Quasimodo, with one hand clutching at his abdomen and the other keeping a tight grip on his mum’s fleece blanket, which he’s gotten into the habit of wearing around the house. Mostly, though, he parks himself in his bed or on the sofa and binges tv shows. But _Broadchurch_ is his favourite.

 

His uncle calls him up over the phone and tells Merlin that a shipment of candy dishes has just arrived at the shop, and wishes Merlin a speedy recovery as he'll be needing all the help he can get, unpackaging every single dish. Merlin groans inwardly when he remembers his deal with Morgana. Right. He'd almost forgotten again. He'll worry about it later.

 

And Arthur comes to see him every day, of course. He helps make suppers and sits with Merlin to watch Netflix, lets Merlin curl up next to him on the sofa cushions like he always does, and tolerates Merlin's whinging about the pain before going to grab the bottle of prescription meds and a glass of water like the saint he is.

Merlin pouts when Arthur doesn’t bring the mango gummy bears as per request, even though Merlin's not technically allowed to eat them with his body still healing. Arthur argues wholeheartedly with Merlin about starting up a new and improved health regimen, switching up his diet with things that don’t always consist of chocolate or artificial sweeteners, and Merlin argues that he eats perfectly well, he just complements it with a colourful diet of gummies and things that are coated with gourmet chocolate.

Arthur will probably have him on a pescetarian, kale shake, gluten free, pyscopath athlete diet with a strict exercise regimen to match by the time Merlin can leave the flat again, and Merlin plans to fight tooth and nail to hang onto his beloved sea salt caramels and licorice whips. He doesn’t give a flying fuck if it’s ‘bad for his overall health.’ He will have his way with the gummy bears, at least.

But he knows that, in the end, Arthur only ever wants the best for him. He’s sure they’ll be able to reach a compromise.

Hopefully one that doesn’t involve chocolate sauce, this time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess it's been a little bit of time since the last update (I think...?), but this fic is still going strong! After this one is over (and it's not over, I promise) I'm going to need to find something else to toy away with when I'm not slaving over Mortalem. We all need our guilty pleasures! Thankfully mine do not involve chocolate sauce, nor its improper uses.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling a bit crummy this past week, and I needed some cuteness to cheer me up. It's a quick little chapter, but full of love, and hopefully this'll cheer up anyone else who's been having a bad day! Thanks for reading!

Merlin is up and about just two weeks after his hospital visit, and the first day back to work, Arthur pops by for a visit to the shop. Typical.

He’s worried, clearly, and Merlin knows that Arthur only has his best interests at heart, but now Arthur is being a mother hen and it _weirds Merlin out._ Merlin isn’t used to this kind of treatment from anyone but his mother.

The first day back in the shop, Merlin sits dejectedly behind the chocolate counter, staring at all the unopened boxes of candy dishes just waiting to be priced and put on display. In the background, the shop’s radio softly plays pop tunes from a station that Merlin hasn’t been able to change since the dial broke half a year ago; now it’s the same songs, every single day. He hates it. So he keeps the volume down.

The boxes aren’t going to unpack themselves, he thinks tiredly, and suddenly he remembers that he’s forgotten to bring anything to eat for lunch. Brilliant.

So, to waste time and procrastinate the eventual work he’ll have to do in order to place the dishes and price them, he’s re-stocking chocolates in the glass cases. Merlin throws a longing look at the chocolate-covered caramels he’s currently filling a tray with. They look so good…

He shouldn’t.

But what could one caramel do, really?

Merlin holds up a cube of the stuff in his plastic-gloved hand and stares at it. _Maybe just one…?_

“He _hem._ ”

Merlin almost drops the perfect morsel of chocolate on the floor, blinking in surprise when Arthur is suddenly standing in the doorway of the shop, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised pointedly at the sweet in Merlin’s hand. Merlin hadn’t even heard the bell over the door ring.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Arthur asks, nodding at the chocolate. Merlin glowers.

“One isn’t going to hurt me.”

“And what did the doctor say?” Ughh, he’s using his parenting voice. Arthur and his mum have somehow become one person within all the drama of Merlin’s illness and the irritating lack of sweets.

Merlin sighs, but he won’t put down the candy. “He said I need to start living a healthier, more balanced lifestyle. He didn’t say I had to give up sweets _altogether,_ Arthur, that would just be cruel.”

Arthur snorts. “Merlin. Put the chocolate down.”

“Make me.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up. “ _Oh,_ already getting aggressive, are we? That’s no way to talk to the man who brought you lunch because you forgot yours. Like you _always_ do.”

“Are you trying to suggest something?” Merlin asks, dropping the piece of chocolate onto the tray a little too roughly before getting up from the stool, shoving the lid haphazardly onto the storage box as he swings open one of the cabinets underneath the counter. He just manages not to totally throw the box in with the rest, before slamming the cabinets shut again. “I’m a little forgetful. Sue me, it’s not like I’m back to feeling a hundred percent at the moment.”

Arthur’s shoulders heave up and down with another sigh. “That’s… fair enough. I’m sorry.”

Arthur? Apologizing?

“You’re not feeling your best, I know, which is why…” he walks over to the front counter and presents a brown paper bag, opening the top and crinkling the edges as something close to godliness wafts up through Merlin’s nostrils, “I got you this.”

Merlin eagerly reaches a hand into the bag and lifts out one plastic container, then another. “Soup?” he asks, holding up the bigger container, a bit hot on the outside and filled with greenish liquid.

Arthur smiles, looking hopeful when Merlin doesn’t growl at him, instead looking very interested in the prospect of food. “I found this really great Vietnamese place a few streets down from work. They make this really great soup called _Pho._ It’s basically spicy chicken noodle soup.” With a chuckle, he points to the second container, the one that holds what looks like a bunch of shredded vegetables and bits of meat, probably chicken. “Be careful about the peppers. They can get spicy, maybe leave those out if you don’t want to upset your stomach too much.”

Merlin smiles softly, setting down the soup and leaning across the counter to press a kiss to Arthur’s brow. “You’re the best, mate, thanks. I’m sorry for snapping.”

“Understandable.”

“Be right back.” Then Merlin just about rushes to the back room to find himself a bowl and spoon.

Arthur smiles fondly after him and looks around the store, wondering if business has been good. He hopes so. He knows how much this place means to Merlin, and by extent the rest of his family, so if there’s anything he can do to help keep the shop open, he’ll do it.

Strolling away from the counter, he heads to the other side of the shop where all the colourful candy bins line the wall. His eyes fall on the jellybeans.

When he sees that at least three of the bins are only half full, he gets an idea.

Now where does Merlin keep those extra bags of product…?

 

Ah, right, there are cabinets beneath the bins. Grinning to himself, Arthur gets down on his knees and finds the cabinets, then quickly flings one of them open. No, that one just has a bunch of bulk-sized bags of gummy bears. He tries another cabinet. Nope. Only candy canes there—why do they even have candy canes in stock right now? Christmas isn’t for a few more months yet.  

No… nope, not there… Yes, finally! He finds the bags of jellybeans inside the third cabinet, and Arthur easily spots the half-filled one taped shut, bright yellow. The lemon jellybeans.

He’ll be helping Merlin out, thinks Arthur. Save him some of the trouble. Arthur snatches the bag from the rest and tugs it out, humming smugly to himself. Wait until Merlin sees him.

 

Merlin’s never resented Arthur for his work, even though it does make good pay. Arthur mostly fills out paperwork and sits behind a desk most of the day, checking in on product labeling and packaging every once in a while. It’s not an enviable post from a “fun” standpoint, but the wages are… nice? Yeah, they’re pretty nice. Very nice.

Merlin teases Arthur for having it relatively ‘easy,’ if you look at the amount of work Arthur does in proportion to what he earns. Sure, Arthur does deserve a bit of teasing, at least. And Merlin _always_ teases him about never having to, say, constantly fill up candy bins and deal with annoying customers on a daily basis.

 

Long story short, Arthur has never had the pleasure of working in retail.

 

Just as he’s tearing off the tape keeping the bag from opening, Merlin walks back into view, carrying a bowl and spoon and whistling to himself. When he sees Arthur with the bag in his arms, his brow scrunches. “Um… what’re you doing?”

Arthur shrugs, like it’s obvious as he hoists the half-full bag a little higher, making sure he doesn’t spill the contents onto the floor. “Helping.”

“Why do I feel like you’ve never done this sort of thing before in your life.” Merlin slowly sets down the bowl and spoon, the expression on his face saying, _oh, this ought to be good._

Arthur scoffs, looking ridiculously dramatic. “I am offended, Merlin, really, to think you don’t trust that I can handle something as simple as filling a plastic bin with candy.”

Merlin gestures towards the bag with a nod. “Right then. Show me.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur tears off the last of the tape and steps towards the bin of lemon jellybeans, opening the lid and angling the bag above it. He mutters the whole time, but Merlin crosses his arms, waiting.

Arthur hauls up the jellybeans, and in an admirable effort tilts the bag so that a stream of candy flows into the bin. The sound of jellybeans _whoosh_ ing out of the bag is always a wonderfully satisfying sound. For a moment, it does look like Arthur’s not quite as hopeless as Merlin had thought.

He miscalculates, however, and about three scoops’ worth of jellybeans sends the bin into an overflow. At least, that’s how much winds up on the checkered floor, clattering and scattering beneath cabinets and shelves. Arthur quickly pulls the bag away before he can do further damage.

Merlin cringes, before throwing a palm up to cover his eyes while he snorts and laughs, shoulders shaking. “Adorable,” he snickers, “Really, I dunno what I did to deserve you. I’m surprised we haven’t hired you already.”

“Shut up,” Arthur says, managing an apologetic smile while he adjusts the nearly empty bag and rolls it up gingerly. “I’ll, ehm, pay you back for the candy?” he suggests, nodding at the mess he’s made. God, the jellybeans really did go everywhere.

Merlin nods and, to Arthur’s confusion, turns around to head back to the storage room. “Yes, you will definitely be paying me back,” he snorts, “That was at least fifteen pounds’ worth of candy, and my uncle says that every bit of lost product is a waste of money.”

“Where are you going?” Arthur calls after Merlin as Merlin pushes through the door to the storage room, wandering out of sight. Arthur can hear him clattering away in there, looking for something.

“Getting a broom,” Merlin answers.

“Right.”

“And _you’re_ cleaning it up.”

Arthur sighs, and rolls his eyes. Sure, that’s fair enough.

“ _And_ you’re buying me dinner,” Merlin adds as he comes back into Arthur’s focus, a broom and dustpan in hand. He walks around the counter and thrusts the cleaning equipment into Arthur’s arms, smirking as one eyebrow quirks up. “I really hope you at least know how to use a broom,” he says.

“I’ll be nice to you this time, but only because you’re not feeling well.”

“How sweet of you.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You’ve already said that,” teases Merlin, leaning over like he’s about to peck Arthur on the cheek, but instead hovers closer to Arthur’s ear as he breathes hotly, “You, my friend, are…” he laughs lightly and Arthur just about shivers when the warm breath ghosts by his ear, “well, you’re an enormous fucking prat.”

Moment ruined.

“Oi!” Arthur waves the broom handle in Merlin’s face. “I bought you lunch!”

“You spilled the jellybeans,” Merlin retorts.

Then a _look_ crosses his face, and he claps a hand over his mouth, snorting wildly. Arthur eyes Merlin like he’s gone mad.

“Um…?”

“You- ha _ha_!” Merlin continues to laugh, gasping for air, “y-you spilled-” _snort “_ You spilled the beans!”

Arthur has half a mind to throw down the broom and walk out of the candy store right then, but something about Merlin’s laugh is horribly contagious, and not a moment later, Arthur’s joined in, too. Of all the ridiculous…

But Merlin’s laugh is so adorable, he couldn’t possibly stay angry for a stupid little joke like that.

The bell above the door jingles merrily, interrupting their laughter.

 

The one and only Gaius Emrys, with one terrifying eyebrow raised sternly, looks from Merlin, to Arthur, to the floor, which is littered with yellow jellybeans.

“I hope you two have a good explanation,” he says.

“Uncle Gaius!” Merlin chokes on a laugh and stops snorting at his own joke. “We erm, we were just--”

“Making a mess of my shop, yes, I can see that,” says his uncle, frowning. But there’s a twinkle in his eye, and if Merlin knows his uncle, he knows that Gaius won’t be able to stay mad at them for long. Just as long as they clean up the shop like they should _really_ be doing. The man catches sight of the broom and dustpan in Arthur’s hands and raises a finger his way, but his eyes are on Merlin. “See, even he’s a more responsible employee that you are,” Gaius scolds, “and _he_ ’s not even an employee.”

Then he turns to address Arthur properly— Arthur, who fumbles with the cleaning equipment as he switches them both into one hand, extending the other to shake Gaius’s firmly.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Arthur says, clearing his throat, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sir.”

“And you as well, my boy,” says Gaius, returning the handshake with vigor. “Although I must say I did see you around from time to time, coming in to visit your father during work. You were hardly more than five years old, last I saw you.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shoot up. Okay, why didn’t _he_ know this?

“Tell me, how is your father these days?”

“Ah, erm, my father?” Arthur says, “He’s fine. Couldn’t be better.”

“I hear he isn’t out for my blood then,” Gaius jokes, “considering that the two of you are..?”

“What?” Arthur turns to look at Merlin, who shakes his head. “Oh! That. No, no he’s been perfectly fine about it. I mean, as fine as my father normally is.” He chuckles nervously. “He’s still my father. But everything’s all right with him, really.” He smiles warmly and Gaius releases the grip on his hand. “I also feel I must confess something,” he adds, before turning to give Merlin a sly, private look before turning back around. He sighs. “I’m afraid… I’m the one who spilled the beans.”

 

Merlin just about falls headfirst over the front counter, he’s laughing so hard. His uncle shoots him a disapproving look, but the one he gives Arthur is much kinder. “You’re the one who made the mess, then?” he asks. “I assumed it was Merlin. He never likes to clean up after his messes.”

“Trust me, I know,” Arthur responds, laughing when Merlin stops mid-laugh to scowl up at him. “But he does good business. I take it you’ve accepted my sister’s offer to advertise for the shop?”

Gaius nods slowly. “Yes, yes, I’ve slept on it. I actually just stopped by to see if Merlin had made any progress on scheduling a day for the photos, so we can close up for an hour or so.”

“Still working on it,” says Merlin.

“I can’t say I’m too fond of having all these boxes crowding up the shop, though,” as if to make a point, Gaius gestures towards the stacks of cardboard shipping boxes, all filled with packaged, glass candy dishes.

“Not to worry,” Arthur assures, and this time Merlin’s scowl softens, “I’ll be helping Merlin unpack as many of those dishes today as I can.”

Merlin gapes. Did Arthur really just offer to help – Again?

“Don’t you have to return to work?” Gaius asks. Merlin quickly shakes his head from behind Arthur and mouths, “NO, he’s _staying.”_

With that, Gaius’s eyebrow returns to its rightful place. “That’s very kind of you, Arthur. I trust he won’t give you too much trouble.” He nods in Merlin’s direction.

“Oi!”

“No, Mr. Emrys, Merlin would never give me any trouble. Eh, Merlin?” Arthur grins over his shoulder at the man in question, and Merlin does his very best to hold a straight face until his uncle makes it to the door. But before Gaius can push the door open, he turns his head to look pointedly at his nephew.

“And don’t you forget,” he points up to the ceiling, “this shop has both audio and visual monitoring. I have surveillance 24/7. I'll see you tomorrow."

The bell jingles cheerily as he walks out of the shop without another word.

 

Well _that_ was odd, Arthur thinks, raising an eyebrow.

“Why would he…?” then he catches the blush on Merlin’s cheek. _Oh...._  

“No… wait, he didn’t—?”

“Catch us snogging each other’s tonsils out two weeks ago during closing hours?”

Arthur groans, grimacing as he begins to turn his very own shade of pink.

“Oh yes, he did.”

Arthur clears his throat. “Well,” he murmurs, “Great. That's good, actually."

"I'm sorry, _good?"_

 _"_ Not- no, I just mean, that's good that I found out now, rather than later. Results could've been disastrous.”

Brow raised, Merlin frowns and asks, “Why’s that?”

“Well...” Arthur murmurs, “I might have been thinking of shutting all those blinds after closing..."

"And?"

"And bending you over the counter as soon as I got my hands on you.”

“ _Arthur!”_ Merlin hisses, gesturing around the shop, “We are under both visual and _audio_ surveillance, you prat!”

Arthur suppresses a laugh and grins at Merlin happily. “Of course, I also forgot that you’re not meant to be doing anything too strenuous, so I suppose that would’ve been out of the question, anyway.”

Merlin glares back, but his eyes have something else in them. There’s something… devious. Oh, no.

That’s Merlin’s “idea” look. “Who said it had to be strenuous?” he asks, batting his eyes as his mouth spreads into a big, stupid grin.

Arthur crosses his arms. “What are you… suggesting,” says Arthur. But he looks interested now.

Merlin’s eyes flicker to the door of the storage room, then back again. “You know," he murmurs, "the back room isn’t monitored like the rest of the shop.” He bites his lip and throws Arthur another _highly_ suggestive look. Sighing, Arthur smiles and shakes his head, looking a little sad despite the circumstances.

“We’re supposed to be _cleaning,_ Merlin. And you haven’t even touched your soup.”

“The soup can wait, Arthur.”

“Merlin, you need to eat something.”

“But--”

“Mer _lin.”_

Merlin huffs, glaring daggers at Arthur, who stubbornly sets down the dustpan and begins to sweep, whistling. _Whistling._ The nerve.

But Merlin reaches for the soup anyway, opening the lid and pouring the steaming broth into the bowl he’s brought out, before reaching a hand into the second container to throw in some of the shredded vegetables and something that looks like bean sprouts. Then he drags over one of the stools from behind the counter, and parks himself down, holding up the bowl and blowing away the steam.

“I hate you,” he mutters, before picking up his spoon to take a bite. It tastes a lot better than he was expecting.

“Love you, too,” Arthur says, and sweeps together a small pile of jellybeans. “We can do something later, all right? I do have to get back to work soon.” Which he does. But he can still afford to hang around the shop for at least another half hour. He did say he would help unpack the candy dishes, after all.

Merlin sighs around a spoonful of Pho and shrugs. The soup is really good. It has a very _healthy_ taste to it; naturally, Arthur would get him something that probably contains zero grams of sugar and no remarkable calories. But it hits the spot, and it’ll probably be gentle on his whiny pancreas. “If I’m being honest, I probably won’t be up for much of anything today besides watching TV shows on my lappie with a cup of tea when I get home.”

He hears a chuckle from Arthur, followed by the gentle clatter of more jellybeans finding their way into the dustbin. “I’ll come over then,” he says. “With dinner.”

“Good,” Merlin says before taking another spoonful of the soup as he adds, “And maybe pick up some more of this soup?”

When Arthur turns around, his eyes are crinkled around the edges from his smile. “Only if I get to pick what we watch tonight.”

“Fair enough.”

Some annoyingly catchy pop tune plays over the radio, and Merlin rolls his eyes and ignores the singer belt out, _“Sugar, yes please! Would you come and put it down on me…”_

Same bloody songs every single day. But at least he’s got someone to keep him distracted. Working in retail is tolerable when he’s got someone bringing him food and helping him clean up… So it’s really not so bad.


	9. Epilogue

Summer comes and goes quickly, but that’s sort of all right with Merlin.

Business always picks back up around the time schools begin to open again. Lots of students (normally from posh schools) like to pop in after class for a quick treat, so… the arrival of autumn is really the opposite of a bad thing.

And it’s almost Halloween. He’s _excited._

Not to mention that the holiday seasons are upon them, and Treat Yourself is about to get a whole lot of business.

 

Oh, and the promotional photos were a success.

With his uncle’s permission, Merlin had created not only a twitter account, but a facebook page for the shop _and_ an Instagram, showing photos of the shop itself, and of Merlin cheerfully smiling at the camera from behind the counter (Arthur had slyly said later that Merlin’s face alone would be enough to grab people’s attention. Merlin had rolled his eyes).

And then there are closeups of all the chocolates, the candy bins, and a few more choice pictures of the little trinkets and gift items they sell.

The shop is doing well.

Better than before, at least, and the candy dishes (both Merlin and Arthur hated to admit) are some of their top-sellers. Not to mention there are so _many_ of them, thanks to Morgana and her glass company. Merlin still has war flashbacks to unboxing at least a hundred different candy dishes and _pricing them._

They really are some lovely candy dishes, though; Morgana had outdone herself, as the designs were all her own.

Priced at five pounds for a small dish and ten pounds for the larger, custom-made ones, each one was just a little different. Some were decorated swirls of red and gold, or purple and white, and each had a quote in fine black lettering etched in the center. Most were famous quotes from poets or novelists. There were even a few with verses from the Bible, and a couple by Gandhi.

Merlin’s favorite is the larger dish painted lovingly with gold and crimson swirls, reading:

 

**_“I will uphold justice by being fair to all, I will be faithful in love and loyal in friendship.”_ **

**-** Thomas Mallory.

 

Merlin loved Mallory’s work.

That candy dish sits on the kitchen table of his flat now – Arthur had bought it for him as a gift. A little surprise. What had Merlin done to get so damn _lucky_ with such a damn wonderful _idiot_?

He sits behind the counter the week before Halloween, and watches as passersby splash through puddles while they carry their huge umbrellas, donning their hats and scarves when the wind picks up. It’s raining heavily today. Classic London.

Not much business yet, but that’s all right, since it’s a Monday and not many people are interested in walking into a candy store at 10 a.m., especially when it’s pouring rain.

Merlin has been entertaining himself since eight with some checks on inventory, a bit of product labeling, and oh yeah, packaging things into Halloween-themed cellophane.

God, he really fucking hates cellophane.

Arthur had stopped by earlier, with the promise to bring food for lunch. “And don’t forget, dinner is at eight.”

Right. Dinner.

Merlin and Arthur have been together for half a year now – exactly six months, as of today. Tonight’s their anniversary dinner.

Six months.

Six months of candy shop meetings and family dinners with Hunith and Gaius, busy days at work, a couple small fights (Merlin swears Arthur was the instigator for all of them, but those arguments are long over), lazy weekends with Netflix and tea, and conversations about whether or not they should just get a flat to share and call it a day. Six months of going out to posh restaurants that Arthur insists upon, and more yellow jellybeans than either of them should really be eating.

Merlin’s gotten better at limiting himself when it comes to sweets. Arthur has not. They’re both doing pretty all right, though.

Six months of being happy, and Merlin expects that there will be many more months to come. Years, maybe.

He wonders at what the future will hold, but thinking too hard about that sort of thing can be a little scary, so… well, for now, he’ll focus on ringing up the cost for a box of chocolates (and tries really hard not to think about that Forrest Gump quote) and smiles to himself. He and Arthur are going to be just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to all the beautiful readers of Sweet Tooth, I am so grateful to everyone who was rooting for this fic to continue. I'm really happy to have finished this, and I think I ended it exactly where I wanted it to. I hope you've all enjoyed the story <3 Much love!


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